The Gnarled Tree of Time
by Silk Lily
Summary: Hermione Malfoy is the cherished and sheltered only daughter of Lord Abraxas Malfoy, and lives a peaceful life at the center of her brother Lucius's world. But when, at age six, strange dreams and visions of another life begin to plague the young lady Malfoy, it becomes clear that she is not what she seems-and neither is the world in which she lives.
1. Mind Matters

Chapter One

Mind Matters

 _The steady thrum of pounding feet on dry pine brush. The hiss of her own ragged breaths as they tore a violent path through her lungs. The burn of her calf muscles as she bounded over fallen trees and protruding rocks. The sudden bite of pain up her left ankle as she caught her foot and nearly fell. The rush of adrenaline that followed the pain, the desperate will to get away, to_ live _._

 _Around her, the crack and whistle of spellfire sounded. Explosions of white and red light flashed past her cheeks, sending bark flying off trees and dirt spraying up in the air as she ducked and dodged frantically. Twisting about and barely stopping to aim, she sent a spell flying over her shoulder, where it detonated against the earth with a concussion of flame and smoke. She didn't pause to see if it had stopped the two men in closest pursuit of her, but rather pressed on forward._

 _As she reached a gap in the trees, emerging into a clearing, she felt the icy grip of hopelessness settle around her heart. They were surrounded on all sides, dark figures emerging from amongst the foliage with wands drawn._

 _Acting almost on instinct, she turned on her heel and aimed her wand at Harry's face, rapidly hitting him with a stinging hex. They mustn't recognize him. At all costs, Harry must be kept alive and free. At all costs._

* * *

October, 1966

Hermione awoke hopelessly tangled in her sheets, her arms and legs pinned at awkward angles against her body by the luxurious silk. Fighting down panic, she struggled to sit up, kicking away the bedclothes and shivering as the cold air hit her damp skin.

Shaking from more than just the cold, she slid out of bed and into a pair of slippers left at her headboard by one of the house elves. The marble and parquet floors of the manor would be uncomfortably cool at this time of night, and she was already trembling uncontrollably as it was.

She shuffled out of her bedroom, swinging the thick oak door shut behind her, and glanced around nervously at the shadowy hallway. The torches had been dimmed down to a nearly negligible glow, and the portraits on the walls were all snoozing in their embossed frames, occasionally shifting and catching the shadows in a way which made Hermione's heart skip a beat in momentary alarm. Steadying herself, she padded quickly down the hallway and down a slender spiral staircase to the third landing, eager to escape the shifting, roiling shadows of the empty manor corridors.

A door about halfway down the hall was cracked slightly open, spilling warm, buttery light out onto the floor, and Hermione made a beeline for it, feeling relief well up in her at the sight of the welcome illumination.

Pausing slightly, and feeling suddenly shy, she peeked her eye through the crack in the door, and nearly squeaked upon noting that the study was not devoid of company, as she had expected at this late hour. Two other men, one with a dark, well-groomed goatee, and the other with dull red hair the color of a rusted iron kettle, were sitting in leather armchairs by the fire, quietly conversing with the man whom she had come in search of.

Wringing her hands together fretfully, Hermione finally decided to slink off rather than risk disturbing the three men. She was just about to carefully turn away, when a smooth, gently commanding voice cut through the soft buzz of the two unfamiliar men's speech.

"Hermione, what is it?"

She didn't feel surprised in the slightest; of course he had known she had been here this whole time. Hesitantly, she pushed the study door open wider, blinking owlishly as the full force of the illuminated wall sconces bore down upon her.

Standing there in front of the three well-dressed gentlemen in nothing but her nightgown, she blushed rather effusively.

"I…I had a nightmare, Papa." She whispered finally, darting her gaze up to make brief eye contact with her father.

Training her eyes back upon the plush Persian rug beneath her feet, she missed the pointed looks her father exchanged with his associates. Mere moments later, they had both made their excuses, bowed their heads in brief farewell, and stepped through the floo, disappearing in flashes of green flame.

Feeling more at ease now that the guests had departed, Hermione climbed into her father's armchair, settling herself in his lap and curling against his chest. Frowning down at his daughter, the man gently ran a hand along her wild hair, noting the tremors that continued to wrack her slight frame. Ordinarily he would discourage such a display, but the girl was clearly distressed, and even he recognized that it was unreasonable to expect a six-year-old to exercise proper decorum in such situations.

"What sort of dream, my dear?"

Sucking in several great gasps of air, the girl stuttered an incomprehensible few attempts at sentences, each time foiled as a shuddering sob forced its way out of her. Ignoring his growing concern, the man placed a bracing hand under her chin and tilted it upwards in order to force eye contact.

"Speak. Slowly and deliberately, each word carefully selected to follow the one before it." He instructed, gently but with a hint of steely command, as he had many times when his daughter had been first learning to string words together in a coherent fashion.

Seemingly steadied by the familiar tone of firm authority, the girl began to speak slowly, hesitating slightly as she fought to articulate herself. It was all so vivid, every moment ingrained in her mind down to the smell of pine needles and smoke and the sensation of hot, crackling spellfire flying past her face. She had never in her life felt a curse flash past her face—she had never even seen such magic preformed outside of book illustrations or portraits—and yet the dream had felt so _real_. Less like a dream, and more like a memory.

"I was being chased…chased through a forest. Not like the forests behind the manor, though; it had darker trees, with needles instead of leaves. They were firing spells at me, mostly red ones, but I managed to dodge all of them. They smelled like…like the fireworks at Grandmama's on Midsummer's Eve."

The man's frown grew even further pronounced, disturbed to hear his daughter describe her nightmare in such detail. Stunning spells manifested in red flashes of light, and carried with them a faint yet distinctive sulfurous odor. But his six-year-old daughter should not know such things.

"By whom were you being chased?" He asked, his tone emanating reassuring composure despite his growing disquiet.

"Snatchers." She whispered, and the man felt a chill run up his spine at the tone of utter fear and hopelessness that accompanied the single foreboding word.

She could provide no explanation for what this meant, nor how she knew that this was what they were called, and so her father quickly gave up on the line of questioning.

"And why were you being chased?"

It took her longer to formulate a response to this question, but when she did, it was even more unsettling than her answer to the first.

"They were after Harry. I cast a hex at him so that his face would swell up and they wouldn't recognize him. I knew they couldn't know it was Harry, _they couldn't know_ , because then they would bring us to…to _him_."

She began to shake in ernest now, trembling like a leaf on a brisk autumn day, and the man felt real alarm begin to take hold of him. He let none of it show in his face, of course, as he calmly ran his hand in soothing circles about her back and shoulders.

"Who, Hermione?"

" _Him!_ " She wailed, burying her face in his robes and losing any last shred of coherence as she dissolved into sobs.

It was then, in that moment, that Abraxas Malfoy began to realize that his daughter was far from ordinary.

* * *

November, 1966

Ursula Finch was a highly qualified semi-recent graduate of St. Mungo's mind-healer training program. She had graduated top of her class six years previously, and had shortly after established an instantly successful private practice in Diagon Alley. She was becoming well known within the healing community for her skill in treating various maladies of the mind with an unconventional yet highly affective combination of prescribed potions and personal counseling.

She was also prized amongst her clients, many of whom were well-known members of the wizarding community, for a very different reason. All mind-healers were required to establish healer-patient confidentiality agreements, but Ursula Finch was unmatched in her discretion; she was willing to take an Unbreakable Vow to never disclose her patients' secrets, barring those holding the potential to harm the patient or those around them. This made her understandably popular amongst members of the wizarding elite, who were eager to keep skeletons in their closets where they belonged, well away from the eyes of the prying public and personal enemies alike.

And so it was that a few subtle inquires amongst relatives and associates had led Lord Malfoy to seek out Healer Finch and make an appointment for her to see his daughter the second Friday of November.

Ever since her sixth birthday, which had been the month before, the nightmares had been growing progressively worse, leading his daughter to seek out either his or his son's company nearly every night. After he had found her, in the early hours of the morning a week earlier, wandering about the dungeons muttering about a hidden chamber and a snake that lived in the walls, Abraxas, however reluctantly, had felt obligated to unbend both his pride and his desire to keep such family matters entirely private.

Lord Malfoy cast an imperious look about the minimally yet tastefully furnished reception area, noting with some satisfaction that the witch seated behind the front desk had straightened in her chair upon registering his presence.

He certainly cut an impressive figure, towering well over six feet and clad in midnight blue robes of the finest quality and make. In his left hand was an ebony walking stick topped with a silver snake's head, and his right rested upon the slight shoulder of his young daughter.

Gently guiding the girl forwards, Abraxas glided up to the desk, treating the receptionist to a smile that was perfectly polite yet distinctly lacking in any real warmth. The young witch swallowed slightly more heavily than normal, and fixed a responding smile in place.

"Welcome, sir. Do you have an appointment?" She inquired, managing to keep her voice even.

The wizard in front of her carried with him a palpable aura of command, and it was clear merely from the way he conducted himself that he was a man who was used to being listened to and obeyed by those around him. The receptionist, a recent Hogwarts graduate by the name of Belinda Zealcock, was working only her second day that afternoon, and had still not grown used to the high-profile clientele who came in and out of the office with some regularity. Healer Finch had assured her that she would quickly become immune to the imposing witches and wizards who frequented her practice, but Belinda wasn't entirely sure it was _possible_ to get used to a man like this.

"Yes, I believe we are scheduled for three thirty with Healer Finch." He replied smoothly.

Trying not to let her nerves show, the young receptionist nodded in eager acknowledgement, and gestured to a row of cream-colored armchairs arranged neatly along the wall to her left.

"I'll inform Healer Finch that you've arrived, Mr. Malfoy. In the meantime, please take a seat."

Abraxas inclined his head in the barest hint of acknowledgement, before moving to take a seat in the leftmost armchair, crossing his gloved hands over the head of his walking stick. Hermione, looking about with curiosity at her new environment, appeared reluctant to take a seat beside her father, but quickly relented under the force of a single raised eyebrow.

The youngest Malfoy child was rarely allowed off the grounds of the manor; in fact, she had only been away from her ancestral home four times, all of them for holiday visits to family. Her father was zealously protective of her, convinced that she had inherited her late mother's frail and sickly disposition, and thus heavily censured any exposure she might have to the outside world. Even the brief glimpse she had caught of Diagon Alley before her father had swept her away from their apparition point and into the healer's office had been enough to make her eyes wide as snitches from excitement.

Lysithea Malfoy had been a delicate and frequently ill woman, and her second pregnancy had weakened her to the extent that a particularly nasty strain of mumblemumps had been enough to carry her off several months after Hermione's birth. Abraxas had been (privately, of course) devastated by the loss of his wife, but their daughter had been his saving grace; the girl was a poignant reminder of Lysithea, and had it not been for her presence in his life, he was certain he would be a very different kind of man.

The Lord Malfoy was broken from his momentary reverie by the voice of the young witch at the reception desk.

"Healer Finch is ready for you now, Mr. and Miss Malfoy."

Standing, he made a small gesture with his hand for his daughter to follow, and the girl dutifully slid off the armchair and trotted after him, smiling shyly up at Belinda as she passed by the witch's desk.

The young woman, delighted by the little girl's bashful grin, treated her to a kind smile in return, and wished that she wasn't concerned that Lord Malfoy might curse her into next week if she even considered offering his daughter a sweet.

Healer Finch's office was a large, airy room, the wall facing the alley entirely composed of soaring French windows framed by powder blue curtains, and a pair of plush cream couches facing one another across a low coffee table. Everything was a soothing, muted shade, and the portraits on the wall were all of things like laughing children and good-natured-looking animals. Nothing like the intimidating ancestral portraits lining the walls of Malfoy Manor, Hermione couldn't help but think—she also doubted the three adorable ducklings toddling about in the painting to her right would offer her unsolicited advice about posture and proper tea-time attire, unlike the dour portrait of her great-great grandmother that hung in her bedroom.

The woman who rose from the couch facing the door was younger than Lord Malfoy had expected, but she had come highly recommended, so he pushed his doubts aside.

"Healer Finch I presume?" He inquired politely.

The witch hardly seemed to be paying attention to him, however, her gaze immediately training on his daughter. Abraxas resisted the urge to respond to the slight, merely gripping the head of his walking stick a bit tighter.

"You must be Hermione. Ursula Finch."

The girl ducked down into a well-rehearsed curtsy, only stumbling slightly as she rose.

"Hermione Malfoy. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

It was only now that Finch seemed to deem it necessary to acknowledge the presence of the other adult in the room.

"Right. Mr. Malfoy, you are here to oversee the formation of the Unbreakable Vow between myself and your daughter. If you would assume the proper position?" She said briskly.

Finding himself simultaneously off-put and appreciative of the woman's abruptness, Abraxas nodded curtly, and withdrew his wand from its place ensconced within his walking stick.

Healer Finch's secretary had owled him the exact parameters and wording of the vow earlier in the week, and Abraxas had had the family's legal team scrupulously review it prior to the day of the appointment. He had also ensured that Hermione practiced her spoken part of the vow, and as the ribbons of golden magical energy leapt from the tip of his wand to encircle the healer's and his daughter's clasped hands, he couldn't help but feel a flutter of pride as she clearly articulated each word, her wide brown eyes filled with seriousness.

As an aura of finality settled upon the room with the conclusion of the spell, Healer Finch rose to her feet, kindly offering his daughter a hand up and indicating that she take a seat on one of the cream couches by the window. Then she turned her businesslike gaze upon him, looking rather expectant.

"You may come collect Hermione in an hour's time, Mr. Malfoy, or I can arrange to have some refreshments brought to you in our reception area if you would prefer to wait." She said cooly, adjusting her wire-framed glasses with an elegant, long-fingered hand.

Abraxas, already rather affronted by the woman's apparent lack of regard for his position, balked at this. He let none of his irritation show on his face, however, instead smiling and saying,

"I was under the impression that I would remain present for the duration of the session, Healer Finch. She is my child, after all."

Hermione, perched primly on the couch with her ankles crossed, was watching what was shaping up to be a power struggle between the two adults with mild interest.

"I will be happy to give you my comprehensive assessment based upon what your daughter and I discuss, as the Vow allows, Mr. Malfoy. But with my younger clients, I find that the presence of a parent in the room can often impair their ability to discuss certain topics openly with me." Finch replied, her tone of crisp professionalism remaining unwavering.

Feeling mounting annoyance, both at the woman's tone and what she said—certain topics! Hermione was much too young to be keeping secrets, and no daughter of his would ever have anything shameful to conceal from him to begin with—Abraxas nonetheless inclined his head in acknowledgement and exited the room, feeling a rather sadistic satisfaction when the woman at the front desk jumped nervously at his return.

Watching the door snap shut behind the imposing figure of Abraxas Malfoy, Ursula sighed imperceptibly and fought the urge to roll her eyes. Given her unusually comprehensive privacy policy, she was well-accustomed to dealing with the likes of Lord Malfoy, and haughty and imperious members of pureblood society were nothing new to the young mind-healer. But it didn't mean she didn't grow tired of being looked at like an upstart fleck of dirt that had worked its way onto the toe of a highly-polished designer shoe.

Turning to her newest client, Ursula fixed an encouraging smile on her face and moved to take a seat across from the small girl, quickly visually assessing her. She was small for her age—the preliminary paperwork Lord Malfoy had filled out indicated that she was six—and somehow made to look even smaller and younger by the tightly-starched, lace-trimmed robes she had been bundled into. Long-lashed, intelligent eyes met her own with unusual composure and confidence for a young child, and a froth of wild blonde curls framed her face.

"So, Hermione. You may call me Healer Finch or Ursula, whichever makes you more comfortable." She said, settling back in her chair and flipping through the neat stack of parchment attached to her clipboard. "How are you this morning?" She continued, looking up from her clipboard and sliding her glasses off her nose to make direct eye contact with her young client.

"I am well, Healer Finch." The girl replied politely, if a tad stiffly.

Ursula fought back a sigh. These pureblood society types were often the most difficult to work with, what with the stiff-backed ways that had been bred into them literally since before birth.

"Hermione, I want you to know that my office is a place where you can be at ease. Your father explained to you, I hope, what the bit of magic we just preformed means?"

"Yes." The girl nodded, her halo of curls bouncing slightly. "It means that you cannot divulge anything I tell you unless it is likely to cause harm to me or those around me. If you do, the results will be…unpleasant for you."

Ursula nodded. No doubt verbatim the explanation Lord Malfoy had provided.

"Exactly. Which means there is nothing you should be afraid to tell me. And you needn't act as though you're at a high tea. Although I can certainly have Belinda bring us some tea and biscuits if it would help you relax." She added, with a conspiratorial smile that she hoped would make the girl unwind a bit.

It did seem to do just that, as Hermione smiled slightly in response, and seemed to relax slightly against the cream-colored cushions. Now that she had gotten the girl to loosen up a smidgen, it was time to get into the meat of it, Ursula thought.

"So, your father said that the primary reason for your visit today is that you've been experiencing nightmares?" Ursula questioned, her eyes darting down the parchment on her clipboard.

Hermione nodded hesitantly, her dark eyes becoming slightly closed-off once more.

"I suppose." She replied at last, and Ursula cocked her head to the side slightly.

"You suppose?" She probed lightly.

"Well…they're not exactly nightmares." Hermione said softly after a moment, her eyes flitting to the windows to her left in what read to Ursula as mild embarrassment.

"What makes them different from ordinary nightmares?" She prompted gently.

The girl took several moments to respond, but when she did it was a clearly well-thought-out and descriptively-worded explanation.

"Ordinarily, when I dream it's almost like a watercolor painting. Blurry, indistinct, details I can't recall. But these are not like dreams. They're like memories, clear and filled with all sorts of details that I would normally never notice in a dream."

She paused for a moment, but looked as though she were going to continue, so Ursula remained quiet.

"Once, when we were visiting my Grandfather Malfoy on his estate in France, my father used his pensieve to show me a memory…of my mother. They're almost like that, like looking to a pensieve."

Ursula unobtrusively scribbled this detail down on her notes. To her knowledge, Lady Malfoy had died shortly after the birth of her daughter, and this had no doubt had a profound effect on the girl. She wondered if these dreams were symptoms of post-traumatic stress relating to the loss of her mother. But it was too early to be making assumptions.

"Would you speak more about your mother?"

Hermione frowned, powdery brows coming together like lightning bolts.

"I don't see that she has anything to do with these dreams, Healer Finch. She has never featured in any of them. In fact…not a single person I recognize has ever been in any of them." She finished, as if just realizing this for the first time.

Ursula frowned slightly, in turn. That seemed rather unusual.

"Could you perhaps tell me about one of these dreams, in detail, Hermione?"

By the end of the hour, Ursula had broken out in a cold sweat, and glancing at her wristwatch, flicked her wrist at the memo pad on the coffee table. A message quickly appeared and then faded away, and the mind-healer knew that it would have appeared on the matching pad on Belinda's desk out in the waiting room. It instructed the woman to cancel her next two appointments, and to inform Lord Malfoy that she wished to extend her session with his daughter considerably.

The…visions that Hermione was describing, with vivid detail and haunting precision, were of a world at war, and the figures in them were unerringly recurring and consistent. Ursula was beginning to think that the girl might be a Seer, in which case Ursula would be mostly helpless to assist her. But there was only one way to be certain.

Over the course of the hour, as the girl had grown more comfortable in Ursula's presence, she had removed her shoes and was curled up in stocking-feet against the plush cushions of the couch, her frizzy hair settled around her shoulders in a glimmering pillow. No doubt her high-born relatives would gasp to see her behaving so indecorously, but Ursula was grateful the girl had grown less wary.

Leaning forward, she laced her hands together and looked very seriously at Hermione.

"Hermione, there is a form of mind-magic known as legilimancy, are you familiar with it?"

The girl nodded slowly.

"Yes. Father has explained it to me before, he says that I shall start lessons to defend myself against it with oc—occlumency before I leave for school." She stumbled a bit over the word, but Ursula nodded, confident the girl had a general understanding of what she was talking about.

"I am an accomplished Legilimins, and often I will use that skill to look into my patients' minds when they are feeling or experiencing something that they are having difficulty conveying to me. I understand that this may be a compromise to your privacy that makes you uncomfortable, and if so we can certainly proceed without it."

Hermione chewed her lip thoughtfully, her eyes filled with thoughtfulness. Ursula patiently waited, and after a few minutes, was rewarded with a hesitant nod that slowly became more assured.

"Yes. Yes, you may look into my mind, Ursula." The girl quietly said.

Removing her glasses, which she had returned to their perch atop her rather beaky nose, Ursula looked deep into the polished brown of her client's eyes, leaning into the familiar sensation of slipping into and past those eyes.

Suddenly, without warning, Ursula felt a yank on her collar similar to what one would experience with a portkey, and found herself sitting on a bench in what appeared to be an idyllic country garden. Glancing around in confusion, Ursula saw that the by-now familiar figure of Hermione Malfoy was perched on the bench next to her, looking around with equal confusion.

"Where…where are we?" The girl breathed, and Ursula felt the breath leave her lungs. She had assumed, for a moment, that she had lost control of the Legilimancy—which hadn't happened in years, skilled practitioner that she was—and been thrust into one of the girl's random memories. But this wasn't right, she ought to be a removed onlooker, and Hermione could clearly see her.

At a loss, Ursula was scrambling for an explanation, when the shadow of an approaching figure fell upon the park bench. Ursula looked up, and was taken-aback by the sight of a witch who looked to be in her late teens or early twenties standing in front of them, her arms neatly tucked behind her back and a contemplative expression fixed upon her oddly familiar features.

After a moment of regarding the utterly flummoxed mind-healer and her young companion, the woman smiled slightly at the two of them.

"Hello, I'm Hermione Granger." Her eyes shifted to rest on Hermione Malfoy, who looked a combination of intrigued and fearful, and her smile widened. "I've been waiting for you for quite some time, Hermione. I'm afraid I have a bit of explaining to do."


	2. Tender Beginnings

Chapter Two

Tender Beginnings

March, 1971

The Malfoys' Vernal Equinox Ball was a centuries-long tradition spanning back to the establishment of the estate in Wiltshire shortly after the Norman conquest. Hermione, in her lessons with the family's private tutor, had been informed that the ball had once consisted of a series of very gruesome blood magic rituals that could only be preformed on the equinox, but had since evolved into the social event of the season, complete with its own page in the society section of the paper each year.

She almost wished the proceedings _did_ consist of nauseating and highly illegal dark magic rituals, Hermione thought grumpily, taking a delicate sip of her pumpkin juice to hide her displeased expression from the elderly Bulstrode woman she had been conversing with for the last twenty minutes. It certainly seemed preferable to her current circumstances, which consisted of listening to the old bat wax lyrical about her family's genealogy for what felt like multiple hours on end.

 _It's all utter nonsense in any case._ A familiar voice echoed primly through her head. _You know, I was filing some paperwork for a dragon hatchling mishandling case at one point, and in the process stumbled upon some old records of a few Bulstrode relatives who had gotten themselves in hot water with the department in the past. Half-bloods, the lot of them! 'Pure for ten generations' my arse, the old bint hasn't a clue what she's talking about._

Hermione, immensely relieved once again for the concealment offered by her cut-crystal punch goblet, snorted into her pumpkin juice.

 _How many times must I tell you not to say things like that when I'm entertaining? Do you_ want _people to think I'm mentally unstable, chortling to myself for no apparent reason in the midst of conversation?_

 _Well you_ are _a pureblood heiress. Madness runs in the family, I doubt anyone would be surprised._

Shoving the cheeky voice to the back of her mind, Hermione reluctantly returned her attention to the hulking matron in puce dressrobes, only to gratefully note the approach of a familiar figure over the woman's shoulder.

"Lucius!" She exclaimed, trying not to let too much relief seep into her tone, and clearly failing if the sharply cocked eyebrow her brother presented her with was any indication.

"Madam Bulstrode, a pleasure to see you. We're so delighted you could make it to our humble gathering this evening." He said smoothly, sliding into place beside Hermione and taking the witch's hand with a charming smile.

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes, glancing around at the surrounding 'gathering', which was quite clearly anything but humble. The Malfoys' grand ballroom had been magically expanded even beyond its usual enormity, and the chandeliers cast glittering light upon the hundreds of well-dressed members of wizarding society below, whilst extravagant springtime flower arrangements overflowed from every corner and tables laden with food and drink abounded.

Madam Bulstrode, clearly entirely charmed by her brother's impeccable manners and budding good looks—she ignored Old Hermione's disgusted retch at this—fluttered and simpered dreadfully, and batted her lashes in easy agreement when Lucius regretfully asked if he could steal his delightful sister away for a dance.

Taking her brother's hand with practiced ease, the silk of her elbow-length gloves sliding into his waiting fingertips, she leaned against him as he lead her into the center of the ballroom, filled with the swirling skirts of women's dress robes as their wizards twirled them about.

"You're positively my hero, Lucius, that was brilliant." She giggled in his ear, as her brother began to lead her through the preliminary steps of the brisk waltz that was echoing throughout the ballroom. "I would have entirely lost my patience if I had to listen to the names and occupations of one more Bulstrode cousin."

Lucius smirked down at her, elegantly spinning her closer to the center of the ballroom and past their father, who was dancing with a petite and very beautiful woman who Hermione recognized as Druella Black. It was unusual to see Abraxas thus engaged, as he generally could be found at such social engagements conversing with the other patriarchs of the important pureblood families, and left such frivolous pastimes such as dancing to his son.

"Well then, it's certainly fortuitous that I intervened when I did, as you have so little patience to spare to begin with." Her brother replied archly, and Hermione grinned, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"I have plenty of other virtues to compensate for a lack of patience, brother dear." She replied primly.

"I have yet to see evidence of any of these supposed virtues, so I shall have to take your word for it."

It was said somewhat distractedly, and Hermione, wondering what had diverted her brother's attention, glanced unobtrusively over her shoulder, just long enough to catch sight of a willowy blonde girl looking in their direction, surrounded by several other young witches a few years older than Hermione herself.

Shrewdly, she returned her attention to Lucius, now seeing through his mask of politely indifferent calm, and it was her turn to smirk wickedly. Observing her expression, he treated her to that trademark eyebrow quirk, and her lips parted to reveal her teeth in turn.

"I hope you don't go about showing your teeth like that at social engagements, Hermione," he said lightly, "hasn't your governess told you that it makes you look ill-bred?"

She let out a puff of laughter.

"Hah! You almost had me, Lucius, I had forgotten that Narcissa Black was supposed to be here tonight. You're nervous as a house elf that's botched the afternoon tea."

She lowered her voice so the other dancers wouldn't hear her gentle teasing. It was all in good fun, of course, but it would no longer be if she publicly embarrassed her brother. As it was, his hand tightened around hers and his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as he looked down at his much shorter younger sister.

"I am not _nervous_." He denied haughtily, but Hermione discerned his slightly clipped tone at the end of the claim, and her smile softened slightly.

Now the sight of their father dancing with Druella, Narcissa's mother, made sense. The Blacks were in negotiations with her father for Lucius and Narcissa's engagement contract, and it looked good for the two families to be seen paying each other special attention at a public event such as the Malfoys' ball.

"Then why in Merlin's name, brother, are you dancing with your little sister when you ought to be sweeping a certain Miss Black off her feet?"

"I was under the impression you appreciated me taking the vast Madam Bulstrode off your hands." Lucius sniffed, looking a bit put-out, and Hermione tittered slightly.

"I do, Lucius, I do, rest assured that you are thoroughly a gentlewizard and an excellent older brother. But I do think you ought to stop being such a pillock and ask her to dance."

He frowned.

"Where did you learn language like that? You sound like a mudblood, Father would be furious if he heard you speaking like that."

Reigning in the outraged muggleborn witch trapped within her cranium, Hermione forced herself to laugh lightly and poke her brother in the shoulder.

"You're the one endowed with foul language. Honestly, speaking that way in front of a lady? What _has_ come over you?"

Hearing the final chords of the song, bringing the dance to a conclusion, Hermione didn't give her brother a chance to respond, instead turning them about, tucking her arm into his elbow and whispering in his ear,

"Now please, let's go say hello to the Blacks. It will be rude if we don't greet them soon, we're already an hour into the ball."

Nodding in grudging agreement, Lucius led her across the dance floor, the two siblings gliding with the well-bred grace that was as much their birthright as the white-blonde hair spilling down both of their backs.

It was obvious that Narcissa noted their coming approach by the way she straightened her spine slightly and became even more charmingly animated in conversation with her well-dressed companions. Hermione noted the lack of subtlety, and a glance at Lucius informed her that it had not gone unnoticed by her discerningly observant sibling.

Lucius stopped their progress at a polite distance from the cluster of witches, from which Narcissa gracefully extricated herself after a moment, approaching the siblings with a distinctly anxious smile fixed upon her pretty face.

She dipped into a graceful curtsy, and Hermione noted, with a touch of envy, the elegant swirl of her pale blue skirts. Her own responding curtsy was not quite so graceful, and she knew it, although Lucius's bow was perfectly irreproachable.

"Miss Black, I'm sure you remember my sister, Hermione. Hermione, I believe you have met Narcissa Black?"

Hermione nodded, and smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging fashion at her future sister-in-law. Even Old Hermione, filled with negative feelings towards her younger incarnation's family and their associates as she generally was, had a grudgingly positive opinion of Narcissa, who she had presented to Hermione as a fiercely loving and loyal mother who had committed questionable acts for the sake of protecting her family.

"Certainly. It's lovely to see you out and about, Miss Malfoy, is this the first Vernal ball you have attended? I don't recall seeing you in attendance last year." Narcissa inquired politely.

Hermione smiled and nodded.

"Yes, my father does like to treat me like quite the china doll. He was certain I would shatter to bits if I were allowed anywhere near a social engagement this large, but with me going to Hogwarts this September, even he had to admit that I might not be able to _entirely_ avoid the rest of wizardkind my whole life." She giggled, hoping Narcissa would be put a bit at ease by this show of good humor.

It did indeed surprise a laugh out of Narcissa, who quickly covered her mouth with two gloved fingertips, looking rather bashful at having issued a noise of amusement louder than a subdued giggle. A quick glance at her brother revealed, to a smug Hermione who was used to reading his deliberately unreadable expressions, that he had been quite charmed by the little laugh.

"You will keep an eye on my sister for me at school, won't you Miss Black?" He inquired smoothly, a small smirk turning up the corner of his mouth.

"I should think that with the much sought-after attention of Prefect Malfoy trained upon her, she could hardly step out of line" Narcissa tittered, and Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing.

She had been the one to insist Lucius greet Narcissa, after all, but if she had known it would mean being forced to observe her brother's flabbergastingly effective attempts at flirting, she almost would have rather been left in the company of the hulking Madam Bulstrode. She filed this away for later, wickedly thinking of all the teasing her brother would be forced to endure, and returned her attention to the two fluttering teenagers.

"You would be surprised, Miss Black," Lucius was saying, maintaining eye contact with the pretty witch in front of him, "my sister is quite the slippery one. The addition of your lovely eyes upon her could hardly do any harm."

"Who, me?" Hermione inquired innocently. "Why, I don't know what I possibly could have done to attract such unjustified suspicion. You slander me, brother." She proclaimed haughtily, drawing another tinkling laugh from the other fair-haired witch in their company.

Her brother huffed in amused exasperation, smoothly changing the subject.

"We ought to greet our parents, don't you think, Miss Black?"

He gestured to a nearby refreshments table, where Druella had been joined by her husband, Cygnus, and was conversing politely with Abraxas and a tall witch with her back turned to them who Hermione didn't recognize from this angle.

"Certainly, Mr. Malfoy, that seems proper."

Deftly removing herself from her brother's side, Hermione made way for him to offer his arm to Narcissa, and she followed in the wake of the older purebloods as they made their way across the ballroom towards their respective parents.

As they drew closer, Old Hermione apprehensively informed her that the tall woman she hadn't reocognized was Walburga Black. Almost simultaneously, she heard the girl in question exclaim,

"Oh, it's my Aunt Walburga! I wasn't sure she would be here tonight."

Noticing the familiar figures of his children approaching, Abraxas inclined his head in their direction, and the rest of the adults turned their imperious gazes upon their approaching offspring.

"Cissy, darling, there you are!" Druella said breathily, descending upon her daughter to plant a kiss on her cheek.

'Cissy' blushed a bit at her mother's effusive behavior, and Hermione thought that the question as to where Narcissa had gotten her overly expressive features was answered rather soundly.

"Son," Abraxas moved forward to clasp hands briskly with his son, and turned a distinctly softer eye upon his daughter. "Hermione."

"Hello, Papa," She responded with a brilliant smile, ignoring the mildly disapproving look her brother gave her for addressing their father in such a familiar fashion in public.

"Cygnus, you already know my son Lucius, but may I present my daughter, Hermione?"

Hermione dipped into a curtsy before the imposing figure of Cygnus Black, and the man sketched a polite if disinterested bow in Hermione's direction, before narrowing his attention on Lucius. His interest clearly lay with her brother, and Hermione supposed that was reasonable, considering he was going to be marrying his youngest daughter soon enough.

The men naturally seemed to form a group apart from the ladies, Cygnus beginning to converse with Lucius—who was hiding his intimidation well, Hermione thought—while Abraxas looked on. Meanwhile, Hermione was left, with Narcissa, to contend with the elder Black women.

If Druella Black, née Rosier, was a bit breathy and fluffy, her sister-in-law was anything but. Walburga Black was a tall and imposing figure in deep purple silk, her chin cocked at a proud angle and her dark hair pulled back so tightly that it seemed to strain the skin around her temples. She was a handsome woman, with large gray eyes, finely-arched brows, and a defined jawline, but was kept from being beautiful by the severity of her dress and bearing.

 _Awful woman,_ Old Hermione was growling _truly evil. Never met her myself, but her portrait was bad enough._

Unbidden, the image of a larger-than-life portrait of Walburga Black, spittle flying from her cracked lips as she screeched about low-born filth, appeared before Hermione's eyes, and she impatiently waved it aside to focus on the woman before her, who looked distinctly more sane than the image of the portrait conjured by Old Hermione.

"You have a very handsome elder brother, Miss Black." Druella was saying, a teasing nudge directed at her blushing daughter.

Hermione smiled slightly.

"If you say so, Mrs. Black. I can't see the appeal, personally, but people do seem to find him rather good-looking."

Druella tittered at this remark, saying,

"So rare to find a young lady with wit these days, Miss Malfoy. Will you be starting Hogwarts this coming year, my dear?"

"Yes, Mrs. Black, if my father doesn't have a change of heart and decide to lock me away in the Manor for the rest of my mortal existence." Hermione replied dryly.

Abraxas Malfoy's overprotectiveness of his only daughter was well known, and Hermione had been kept from attending many of the teas, social mixers, and dance classes girl children of her set generally did. She had been rather relieved by this, actually, never having much enjoyed the company of her peers—the unnatural maturity and knowledge lent to her by Old Hermione being largely responsible for this—but it was rather restrictive, and after eleven years she was beginning to chafe against her father's overbearing attention.

"I could certainly think of worse places to be locked away forever!" Druella replied, waving an elegant hand at the splendor of the surrounding ballroom.

Hermione hummed noncommittally.

"Aunt Walburga, Hermione will be in Sirius's year at Hogwarts, will she not?" Narcissa suddenly inquired. "Have you been introduced to my young cousin, Hermione?"

 _Not in this lifetime._

"I have not had the pleasure, I'm afraid." She replied.

Walburga, at the mention of her eldest son, had grown rather rigid, but Hermione could tell that she was struggling not to display any disquiet on her features; if she hadn't been well aware of the seemingly already present rift between mother and son, Hermione might not have noticed anything at all.

"He is in attendance this evening," Walburga offered cooly, "I would be delighted to introduce the two of you, Miss Malfoy, should the opportunity arise."

After a few more minutes of perfunctorily polite conversation, Hermione excused herself with the premise of fetching some more pumpkin juice, when in reality she just felt compelled to escape the ballroom and find somewhere she could take her prodigiously uncomfortable shoes off for a moment.

Casting a glance at the group of adults conversing nearest to her—some frail elderly Malfoy relative and a handful of rather imposing men with thick Eastern European accents—Hermione ensured that she was not being observed, before deftly slipping into the servant's door arranged neatly behind the folds of a velvet curtain.

House elves, of course, primarily moved about the houses they served through apparation, but Hermione knew from her history lessons with the dour tutor Monsieur Bernard that the servants' corridors were a relic of pre-Statue of Secrecy times, when the Malfoys had 'employed' (which Old Hermione had informed her was actually closer to enslaved) muggles from the nearby villages as servants.

Hermione had found them dreadfully useful throughout her childhood, as, somewhat unsurprisingly, her brother and father rarely seemed to remember they existed, and they were often a quicker way of moving about the house than the vast marble staircases and endless corridors, some of which had the nasty habit of switching places or rearranging themselves from time to time, rather like in Hogwarts. Occasionally she would run into the odd house elf delivering fresh towels or carrying a laden tea-tray, but the family servants were well accustomed to their young miss's odd ways, and were rarely taken off-guard by the sight of the girl moving through the halls.

The house elves were quite busy with the ball underway, and so the corridor, which turned into a steep staircase leading down towards the kitchens, was well-lit, the sconces on the walls casting wide circles of light upon the flagstone floor. As Hermione closed the door to the ballroom behind her, the door at the base of the staircase flew open and the diminutive figure of one of their chamber-elves, Thimble, came flying out of the kitchen with a tray full of wine glasses balanced precariously on each knobby hand. Catching sight of her mistress, the little elf squeaked tremulously and attempted a curtsy-like dip, the wine glasses clinking and shaking ominously as she did so.

"Please, Thimble, don't mind me, attend to your duties as you will." Hermione said kindly, and the elf gave her a big-eyed look of gratitude before scurrying up the steps and past the young miss, unobtrusively slipping into the bright splendor of the ballroom beyond to deliver the glasses.

 _I wonder when Dobby entered your family's employment._ Old Hermione mused, as her younger counterpart began down the stairs towards the kitchens. A familiar image of a little elf with bat-like ears and bulbous green eyes, wearing a motley collection of ill-fitting clothes and a half dozen knit hats came to her mind's eye.

 _You said he was Lucius and Narcissa's elf? Likely not until their marriage, then, I would guess. He was very likely a wedding present._

Ignoring the disgust Old Hermione expressed at the idea of an elf being given to someone as a present, Hermione slipped into the kitchens, inhaling a deep breath of herbs and cooking odors and basking in the glowing warmth of the myriad ovens and stovetops currently hot with use. The vast kitchen was buzzing with a swarm of energetic and efficient elves, some stirring pots full of indulgent sauces, others briskly chopping spring vegetables with knives that looked far too large and sharp to be handled by such tiny beings, while others, bearing trays loaded with hors d'oeuvres and beverages, whisked in and out of the various servants' doors leading to and from the kitchen. Hermione deftly flattened herself against the wall as a string of three little elves trotted past her up towards the ballroom with laden trays, and after a moment managed to weave her way through the busy kitchen to the corner where she knew she would find Phyllo, the elf who managed the preparation of all the desserts and pastries.

As she approached the floury countertops, where two elves were crumbling pie crust under Phyllo's watchful eye, Hermione was shocked to see that she was not the only human present in the vast kitchens. Seated on a stool pushed against one of the countertops, where Hermione herself had often sat whilst a doting Phyllo plied her with sweets and biscuits, was an unfamiliar boy in stiffly formal black dress robes, the front of which were now dusted with flour. He had in front of him a towering plate of delicately iced biscuits and coconut macaroons dipped in chocolate, and appeared to be valiantly attempting to work his way through the whole thing.

"Miss Hermione!" Phyllo squealed, drawing Hermione's attention away from the unfamiliar boy.

"Hello, Phyllo." She said, smiling down at the elf, who was wearing a fastidiously starched and creased tea towel as a loincloth. "I hope you haven't been too overwhelmed with preparations for the ball."

"Oh, no!" The elf reassured her, waving a floury hand. "We has been liking the work very much, young miss, is so very good to be busy. Is you here to enjoy some refreshments with the young sir?"

Hermione returned her attention to the boy seated at the adjacent countertop, who upon hearing her addressed by Phyllo, had looked up with a rather guilty expression, crumbs bunching at one corner of his mouth.

As Hermione regarded him, a whisper of recognition stirred through her at the sight of his dove gray eyes and finely-formed, aristocratic features. Old Hermione seemed to think there was something hauntingly familiar about him as well, but neither of them could quite place it.

"Er…hello," He mumbled around what appeared to be a mouthful of biscuit, and Hermione wrinkled her nose at him in response.

"Hasn't your mother ever told you not to talk with your mouth full?" She inquired mildly, pulling up a second stool and plucking a particularly likely-looking biscuit from the pile on the plate. "Please don't mind us, Phyllo, let me know if we're underfoot at all." She added over her shoulder to the little elf, who had already returned to scolding his companions for not crumbling the chilled butter finely enough into the flour.

He quickly reassured her that they were no trouble at all, and Hermione returned her attention to the biscuit and the boy she had reacquired it from. He was scowling at her lightly, and snatched a coconut macaroon from the plate in what she fancied was a mutinous fashion.

"My mum's instructions to me really tend to be more along the lines of 'stop being a disappointment to your family and your name'." He grumbled, before his expression lightened considerably and he smiled at her crookedly. "But she may have mentioned something about swallowing before speaking at one point."

At this first comment, and the lopsided grin that followed, Hermione felt the niggling sense of recognition mount considerably, and a suspicion popped into her mind moments before it was confirmed when he continued,

"I'm Sirius, by the way."

Unbidden, a flood of Old Hermione's memories rose up before her eyes, a swirl of color and resounding voices and the crack of spellfire, a grizzled middle-aged man with this boy's pale gray eyes at the center of them all.

She had been working for the past five years, with the help of Ursula and Old Hermione herself, to gain some measure of control over Old Hermione's memories; the mind-healer had carefully coached her through the process of learning to coexist with the older woman's spirit alongside her own, and Hermione had grown quite good at managing the dreams and visions that had once incapacitated her as a young child. As the spirit of her counterpart had explained on that fateful day years ago when they had first come into direct contact via Ursula's legilimancy,

" _I am you and you are me, but at the same time we are different. We are iterations of the same spirit, existing in alternate universes. Time is complex, Hermione, it isn't linear, moving forwards or backwards like a river. My life and yours are parallel, and yet also disparate; I can't say how similar our worlds will be, what exactly will be changed by our existence at this point in time and in this body. All I know is that, for some reason, my spirit has attached itself to yours, and my memories and experiences will become yours. I've been with you sense we were born, but I judged that you weren't old enough for me to make myself known before now. I know it's all very confusing, and I myself don't quite understand it, but that often is the case with magic relating to space and time. It's terribly complex; we may never entirely know why or how this has happened._

 _All that_ is _clear is that you'll need to learn how to harness my knowledge and memories, or they will slowly consume you; we can't let that happen."_

But this new barrage of memories, more vivid and filled with emotion than most any she had experienced thus far, was overwhelming. Sirius Black was the first person Hermione had met from her other lifetime who the Old Hermione had been close to, and the feelings that welled up within her, entirely unbidden, upon regarding the young face before her were highly affecting.

 _He looks so young and innocent._ Old Hermione breathed, and Hermione had to agree. The young Black heir was, for lack of a better word, pretty, with his delicate bone structure and silky dark hair, and his smile was free from any of the heaviness that Old Hermione's memories informed her would characterize his expressions as an adult.

Struggling to get a hold on the avalanche of images, Hermione gritted her teeth and forced herself to nonchalantly dip her biscuit into a cup of milk that had been helpfully supplied by one of the elves making pastry. The thought of consuming it made her stomach turn, as a vision of an adult Sirius falling backwards into a swirl of oblivion, his eyes unfocused with the impact of a curse, lingered in her mind's eye.

"Hermione," She said after a moment, somehow managing a light smile.

"These are pretty ace, aren't they?" He mumbled, once again around a mouthful of baked good, and Hermione snorted rather indelicately into her milk. "Nothing like what our house-elf makes, I don't think he even knows what a biscuit is."

Hermione cleared her throat.

"Yes, the Manor's house-elves are all excellent cooks."

She happily noted the pleased expressions the nearby elves exchanged, but raised an eyebrow as Sirius snickered at her, a wicked grin revealing all his teeth (why did boys never get reprimanded for smiling with their teeth?, she thought grouchily.)

"You have a bit of a milk mustache, Miss Hermione." He informed her gravely, imitating the address of the house-elves.

She flushed slightly, and peeling off her Acromantula-silk gloves, wiped her upper lip in what she hoped what an elegant fashion.

"Thank you, Mr. Sirius, how kind of you to inform me." She replied in a deliberately affected manner, and his snickers turned to full-blown laughter.

"You sound so much like my mother and her tea guests, just the thought of one of them with a milk mustache!" He hooted with amusement, and Hermione had to laugh in turn at the image of the tall and forbidding Walburga Black with a coating of milk residue on her upper lip.

"It takes a proper lady to carry it off right." She sniffed, her lips still twitching.

They passed several more minutes companionably munching on biscuits and occasionally conversing, and Hermione was surprised by how pleasant she was finding interacting with someone her own age (or at least _technically_ he was her age, if one didn't take into account the adult spirit co-inhabiting her body). Sirius, while a bit silly and boyish, was clearly very intelligent and well-spoken, and she found it relieving to talk to someone who was less tightly-laced than her brother and father tended to be.

Their peace and quiet away from the party was interrupted, however, when several tall figures swept into a servants' door across the kitchen, scattering house elves and causing one of them—a slip of a thing that Hermione recognized as Quark—to drop a tray of deviled Billywig eggs with an ear-splitting clatter.

"You clumsy idiot!" A hair-raisingly familiar voice tore through the kitchen, and Sirius paled, grabbing Hermione's hand and tugging her down and off to the side so they were concealed behind one of the pastry counters.

"Circe's knickers, that's my cousin Bellatrix." He hissed, and Hermione felt a cold stone of fear gather in her stomach at the name.

A phantom pain swept through her whole body as Old Hermione's memories of being tortured in the drawing room a mere three floors up rose to the forefront of her mind. Hermione had always avoided the drawing room, much to her father and brother's bemusement.

"She's utterly mad, I avoid her whenever physically possible." Sirius was whispering, as the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder.

Hermione flattened herself to the back of the countertop, noticing that the nearby house-elves had momentarily paused at the commotion, only to return to their work twice as diligently, carefully keeping their eyes trained downwards so as not to attract the attention of Bellatrix and her companions.

Said woman swept past Hermione and Sirius' hiding place in a flurry of dark satin robes, quickly followed by two tall men who Old Hermione named as Rudolphus Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov. The memories that flickered through Hermione's mind at the brief sight of Dolohov's long, pale face were enough to speed the tempo of her already racing heart.

The three Death Eaters—for that was what they were, she could feel the familiar whispers of dark magic rising off them; she was almost certain all three of them already bore Voldemort's foul mark, Dolohov for sure—stopped walking, gathering on the other side of the pastry counters from Sirius and Hermione's hiding place. From above them, where he was perched upon a high stool to survey the pastry making, Phyllo shot Hermione a concerned look, and she held a finger up to her lips in warning. The elf nodded imperceptibly and returned to his work, not casting the witch and wizard beneath him another glance.

"Have you finished your survey of the grounds, Dolohov?" Bellatrix was demanding, her voice lowered but still loud enough for Hermione and Sirius, close as they were, to hear clearly.

"Aye. A decent amount of land, and the woods behind the manor are particularly promising." He growled in response. "Excellent cover, and there's a stream that marks a clear boundary; it would be easy to set up wards."

"Excellent." Bellatrix purred, and Hermione fought the urge to gag at the sound. "Rodolphus, have you managed to have the conversation we spoke of with Lord Malfoy?"

"Not yet, he is busy entertaining his guests. I hope to convince him to retire for drinks after the ball concludes."

"The Malfoys will be an invaluable asset. Cissa marrying in is too good a connection not to exploit; now that the contract is being finalized it's time to get our foot in the door." The woman hissed, and the men made noises of agreement.

"Lord Malfoy is well known to have political leanings…sympathetic to our cause. I shouldn't think he will require much convincing." Rudolphus opined.

"He may be _sympathetic_ all he likes, but the Dark Lord wants a firm commitment. We need the Malfoys' resources if we are to achieve our desired objectives." Dolohov rumbled, his gravelly voice triggering a barrage of unpleasant memories trickling through Hermione's mental defenses.

She must have grown very pale indeed, because Hermione suddenly felt a hand grasp her own, and looked over in some surprise to see Sirius—his own features drawn, but nonetheless set with stubborn determination—giving her what she assumed was meant to be a reassuring look.

"Abraxas has been evasive in the past," Bellatrix agreed. "We need to ensure his full support moving forward. No doubt the union of my sister with the Malfoy whelp will provide an opportunity to secure it."

"The boy is promising." Rudolphus murmured.

"He is," Bellatrix allowed, and Hermione felt her stomach clench with revulsion and horror; they were talking about _her_ brother.

 _Who was a Death Eater in my world._ Old Hermione reminded her, and she angrily pushed the voice away.

 _You don't know that he will be in this one._ She protested. _It seemed to me that in your world my family was in staunch support of Voldemort from the very beginning. I had been wondering, but you know Papa would never let me near any of his political matters. From listening to them it sounds as though he's been hesitant to lend his support this time around._

 _I suppose your presence may have had an effect on Abraxas._ Old Hermione said thoughtfully. _He may be more hesitant to put his family at risk, now that it's more than just him and Lucius._

Hermione quickly returned her attention to the conversation happening in the external world, not wanting to miss anything the Death Eaters were saying. Bellatrix was continuing,

"But we could not even think of approaching him until we are certain of his father's loyalties. Which is why you must speak with Abraxas _tonight_ , Rodolphus."

She assumed Bellatrix's husband had nodded in agreement, because after a moment Dolohov rumbled,

"We'd best be getting back before we're missed."

Holding her breath and tightening her grip around Sirius's palm, which was slick with their combined sweat, Hermione fought the urge to squeeze her eyes shut in terror as the Death Eaters brushed past their hiding spot and out the kitchen's main doors.

There was a palpable release of tension with their exit, and the buzz of the elves' conversation, which had fallen entirely silent, now slowly fluttered back to life.

Sirius, seemingly embarrassed to be holding hands with a girl now that it no longer seemed their lives might be at the mercy of several deranged dark wizards, yanked his hand out of her grip and quickly stood, doing his best to brush the flour off the front of his robes.

"What do you suppose they were on about?" He muttered, perplexed, as Hermione rose to her feet and did her best to straighten the creases out of her deep green velvet dress robes. "I mean, Bella's obviously a nutter, but what were those two wizards doing with her? They mentioned the Dark Lord." He finished uncomfortably.

Hermione shrugged, affecting confusion. She had to pretend she knew as little as he did, although her agile mind was running a mile a minute synthesizing all the new information she had gleaned with that from Old Hermione's memories.

"One of them was her husband, wasn't he?"

Sirius blinked, looking confused.

"Er…I think Bella's being courted by someone, my mum mentioned his name but I wasn't really listening. She's not married."

Hermione mentally slapped herself. It seemed Bellatrix had yet to marry—or even become officially engaged to—Rodolphus. Ursula and Old Hermione had both warned her, time and again, to avoid revealing the knowledge lent to her by Old Hermione's memories. People would either think she was insane or a Seer, neither of which was desirous.

"Oh. I don't know why I thought that." She supplied, hoping that Sirius wouldn't dwell on her slip.

She needn't have worried, as he seemed too occupied mulling over the conversation they had just overheard. As she watched, his pensive expression morphed to a delighted grin, and she raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Nearly getting cruicio'd by a lot of Death Eaters—well, they _were_ children, and much more importantly the children of two very influential Dark families, so perhaps she was being rather dramatic—didn't seem to her grounds for smiling.

"That was wicked!" Sirius declared, and Hermione nearly choked on her own spit. "My first official Auror investigation! It was like a…a stake out!"

Hermione's other brow raised at hearing him use the muggle term—which Old Hermione informed her was one used by non-magical law enforcement officers to refer to covert observation of suspects. Had Sirius been watching tele or something? It seemed likely, given his rebellious propensity for all things muggle.

"If you say so." She responded doubtfully.

Noticing the little elf, Quark, who had drawn Bellatrix's ire, passing by with a fresh tray of deviled Billywig eggs, Hermione leaned over to the elf and asked,

"Are you alright, Quark? She didn't frighten you too badly, did she?"

The little elf jumped slightly at the sight of the two humans, and then shook his head frantically, his floppy ears hitting his cheeks with a soft clapping sound.

"N-no, Young Miss, Quark is fine."

But Hermione noticed the way the tiny creature had lifted the tray a bit higher as he spoke, and she frowned slightly.

"Quark, would you lower the tray please?"

The elf, trembling now, slowly lowered the tray of hors d'oeuvres to reveal a large, angry red welt blooming across his thin chest. It was the unmistakable work of a stinging hex, and Hermione realized that Bellatrix must have cruelly hit him with one in the chaos of the Death Eaters' entrance.

As she looked down at the servile little creature, equal parts anger and sadness swirling in the pit of her stomach, Hermione felt a cold sense of foreboding steal over her. The tiny elf was, she was sure, not the first innocent casualty of Bellatrix's brutality, and she was even more certain he would not be the last.


	3. Suitable People

Chapter Three

Suitable People

August, 1971

Ursula Finch's office, situated above a bustling potions supply shop on the main drag of Diagon Alley, had changed very little in the five years since Hermione had first had occasion to visit it.

Belinda, her chirpy young assistant, had been replaced by a crotchety elderly woman named Gladys who Hermione suspected might be part hag, due to her temperament as much as the proliferation of warts on her face. But despite the warts, Ursula assured her that Gladys was invaluable, both for her skill with secretarial magic and her ability to effectively cow even the most pompous and haughty of the mind-healer's clientele.

As Hermione entered the upstairs office, shutting the door to the buzzing Alley behind her, the woman in question fixed her with a baleful look over the top of her _Witch Weekly_ , before grumbling under her breath and returning her attention to the glossy magazine.

"Good morning, Gladys." Hermione chirped, deliberately cheerful as she approached the elegant reception desk.

The woman seemed determined not to tear her attention from what appeared to be an article on undetectable hair-extension charms, but Hermione was not easily deterred.

"I have an appointment with Ursula at 11:15," She continued, when she received nothing more than a small sniff from Gladys's rather oversized nose after several moments of expectant silence.

There were several more very deliberate beats of silence, before Gladys very slowly lowered her magazine and glanced at the clock on the wall. She returned her red-rimmed glower to the girl in front of her, and Hermione responded with her most charming smile.

"As you can see, it is 11:05." Gladys rumbled, what sounded like centuries of cigarette smoke rendering her voice as guttural as a mountain troll's.

Perhaps she was part troll, rather than hag, Hermione reflected errantly. Regardless of whatever magical creature the woman might be most closely related to, she seemed to have no interest in informing Ursula that Hermione had arrived a minute before 11:15, and so the girl resigned herself to a ten minute wait in one of the cream-colored reception chairs.

However, only a few minutes after she had seated herself, back straight and ankles crossed, the door to Ursula's office flew open, and the woman breezed out, ever-present clipboard in hand. Catching sight of one of her oldest and by far most preferred client, Ursula smiled, adjusting the perch of her thin-framed spectacles atop her beaky nose.

"Hermione! Lovely to see you. I hope you haven't been waiting too long?"

With this, she cast a pointed look at the hunched, gray-haired woman behind the reception desk, who scoffed lightly but otherwise didn't respond.

"Only a few minutes," Hermione reassured her, getting to her feet and smoothing out the full skirts of her robes, which were an explosion of white eyelet lace and cream ribbons that Old Hermione would have deemed extravagant but Hermione Malfoy recognized as casual summer-wear.

"Well come on in, I was just going to settle some paperwork with Gladys, but that can wait. You wouldn't mind bringing us some tea, would you, Gladys?"

Not waiting for what would no doubt be a mutinous response from the cantankerous elderly woman, Ursula ushered Hermione into her airy and sunlit office, closing the door behind them with a snap.

"I miss Belinda." Hermione proclaimed ruefully, assuming her usual position on the couch closest to the window, while Ursula sat down across from her, smiling.

"Yes, Gladys certainly is lacking…certain charms that Belinda possessed. But the poor girl was always so frightened by people like your father, she never would have lasted. I received an invitation to her wedding last week, you know, it seems that she and that Prewett boy are finally tying the knot. She's doing very well."

The pleasant smalltalk continued as Gladys entered the room unannounced, levitating a neatly-arranged teaservice onto the coffee table with what Hermione personally thought was an unnecessarily loud thud and rattle of china.

As Hermione helped herself to some perfectly-brewed tea, stirring in a single sugar cube, Ursula set down her own cup and laced her fingers together, a sign that Hermione recognized as indicating the woman was ready to 'delve into the meat of things' as she put it.

"So. How have you been managing the memories since we last spoke? Any lingering effects of encountering key figures in Old Hermione's life at the ball?"

Hermione thought about this for a moment. In the weeks following the ball, Old Hermione's memories had become more vivid and persistent than they had been since she was six and entirely unable to control them. She had also been plagued by dreams in which she lived out these memories, and had woken an alarmed Lucius in his chambers down the hall with her screams on two occasions.

After the second of these occasions, Abraxas had sent a very severely-worded letter to Ursula, informing her that if she could not preform the duties he paid her for—namely, keeping his daughter sane—then he would have to terminate her employment. Hermione and Ursula had managed to convince her father that the nerves leading up to the start of Hogwarts had merely exacerbated Hermione's mild anxiety disorder (an invention of Ursula's, of course) and that she would be fine.

"I've been doing much better." She finally said, honestly. "I haven't seen Sirius or any of the Death Eaters since the ball, and the dreams have mostly stopped these past couple weeks."

Ursula nodded, taking a sparing sip of her tea.

"That's good. Realize, however, that with Hogwarts will come a whole new strain on your hold over the visions. Being in a place so filled with memories, and encountering people to whom Old Hermione has very deep emotional connections, will be a whole new beast. You will have to be _very_ cautious, Hermione."

"I know, we've discussed this many times in the past." The girl responded, a tad testily.

"I know, and I know that you are no fool. And with Old Hermione's help, I am confident in your abilities," The mind-healer soothed. "But this matter with the Dark Lord and his followers…"

Ursula shook her head, a deep crease appearing between her brows. She seemed about to say something, but after a moment merely took a deep gulp of her hot tea. The two of them had discussed, on multiple occasions, the implications of Hermione's knowledge of the potential future. Ursula, alongside Old Hermione, had cautioned her young charge against assuming that things in this world would mirror those in Old Hermione's.

Ursula had also warned her against becoming involved in the terror and danger that had characterized Old Hermione's existence as a key figure in the opposition to Voldemort, but she was less sure this particular bit of advice would be heeded. Hermione Malfoy was a hard-headed and opinionated young woman, and Ursula had quietly observed the many ways in which her views and personality had been effected by the presence of the muggleborn witch within her.

"I'm also not certain what to do or think." Hermione admitted, absently stirring her rapidly-cooling tea.

"All I can truly advise is not to use your unique abilities rashly, and to always, _always_ protect your mind." The mind-healer said firmly.

Hermione nodded, but a far-off look had entered her eye that made Ursula Finch distinctly nervous as she beheld the girl who had been (and always would be, she was sure) her most baffling case yet.

* * *

September, 1971

The occlumency exercises she had been partaking in religiously these past few weeks helped to keep Hermione centered as she beheld Platform 9 3/4 before her in all its whistling, bustling, chaotic glory. Old Hermione's memories were bubbling up insistently at the achingly familiar sight, but Hermione was quite easily able to keep them under an iron fist of control.

Feeling a familiar hand envelop her slight shoulder, Hermione glanced up at her father, who towered above her (and almost everyone else on the platform) in elegant robes of gray and silver. By his side were her burnished mahogany trunk and the spacious cage containing one of the Malfoys' personally-bred eagle owls, Titus.

Hermione rather disliked the imperious creature, as he was aloof and had a nasty tendency towards biting when he became impatient with response time, but Abraxas had insisted she take him. Seeming to sense her uncharitable thoughts towards him, the bird swiveled his head in her direction and gave her what she fancied was a narrow-eyed look.

Fighting the urge to make a face at the uppity avian, she returned her attention to her father, who had attracted the attention of a nearby acquaintance—Mr. Burke? Or was it Mr. Carrow?—and was quietly conversing with the small, dark man.

She was just casting her eyes about the platform, hoping to catch sight of the familiar glint of white-blonde hair, when her search was arrested by the unannounced appearance of just the person she had been searching for.

"Father, Mr. Burke." Lucius acknowledged, inclining his head towards both of the older men, before fixing his sister with a small smile.

"Say your goodbyes to Father and come along, I'll help you get settled in a suitable compartment."

Turning to their father, Hermione fixed Abraxas with a suddenly very watery smile, and the man's usually severe expression softened considerably. In a rare display of public affection, he swept his daughter briefly into his arms, squeezing lightly and imparting the scent of cigar smoke and expensive cologne, before releasing her and fixing her with a very serious look.

"I expect only the best from you, Hermione."

She nodded seriously, and with a final pat on the shoulder, Abraxas returned to his quiet conversation with the rather shifty-looking Mr. Burke. A quick wave of his wand had Hermione's trunk and Titus's cage floating obediently behind the two Malfoys as they started off towards the scarlet steam engine, the crowd parting to make way for the imperious-looking Lucius and the small, fair girl in his wake. They received many nods of acknowledgement from the more well-bred members of the crowd of parents and students, alongside a few less-than-friendly looks from adults who Hermione guessed to be among her family's many political adversaries.

She also caught the whispers of a few of the less subtle students, and fought not to allow what she heard effect her expression.

"That's Malfoy's sister? As if we needed another Slytherin prat slithering about the corridors. Just look at the smug git." This from a group of older-looking boys in Gryffindor colors who leveled baldly hostile looks at Lucius as the Slytherin prefect passed by.

"…really scary, heard their family supports You-Know-Who…" Whispered from a heavily-freckled girl to her thin, nervous-looking friend.

"He's so good-looking, and a prefect, too. Do you really think he's engaged, or is it all rumors?"

At this, hissed by a rather pretty brunette to a cluster of her friends, Hermione nearly choked with the effort of holding in laughter, and she found herself wishing that she were not staring at the back of Lucius's head, just so she might have the opportunity to observe his mask of cool indifference slip at the indelicacy of these remarks.

It turned out that 'a suitable compartment' meant a compartment filled with people Lucius deemed suitable company for his eleven-year-old sister; this consisted of a rather pudgy girl with a snub nose, a girl with flint-black eyes and milky pale skin, and a thin and spindly blonde, all three of them in robes of the finest cut and fabric.

Hermione was in an unusual (and rather awkward) position, having been excluded from the social life of an ordinary girl of her station by her father's overprotectiveness. It was obvious from the ease with which the girls conducted themselves around each other—and from their animated chatter, which had ceased upon Lucius' polite knock on the compartment door—that they all knew each other well.

 _Well, it's not as if having no friends will be anything new to either of us._ Old Hermione asserted with wry amusement.

 _Even if I don't befriend them, they'll be important connections for me to have._ Hermione protested, feeling slightly nervous at the imposing sight of three sets of curious pureblood eyes trained upon her. _Their families are all old and important ones, and it wouldn't do to be burning bridges ten minutes into my Hogwarts career._

Old Hermione seemed to have nothing to say to that.

"Ladies, I apologize for the interruption, but may I introduce my younger sister, Hermione?" Lucius said, the girls all fluttering exasperatingly in response to her brother's easy charm.

"She is not well-acquainted with many suitable young witches her own age, and I had hoped you all might welcome her into your company."

Hermione dipped a brief curtsey, much more informal than what she would have preformed had they been in the drawing room of one of their homes—but Lucius had informed her that the standards at Hogwarts were distinctly more relaxed than at the Manor or at society gatherings, and for this the girl had been relieved.

"Hermione, this is Dahlia Parkinson," he gestured an elegant hand in the direction of the pug-nosed girl, who reminded Hermione distinctly of Pansy now that the relation was made evident, "Judith Burke," this was the dark-eyed girl, "and Claudia Rosier." He finished with his eyes on the waif-like blonde.

The three witches politely inclined their heads in response, and after a moment, Dahlia, seemingly their self-appointed leader, smiled saccharinely and gestured at the empty seat next to Judith.

"We'd be delighted to have her, Lucius." She simpered, and Hermione forced herself not to raise an amused eyebrow in her brother's direction at the informal address.

The brief look he shot her as she deftly settled into the vacant space next to Miss Burke made it clear that he expected her to be on her best behavior, and she smiled angelically in response.

"I thank you for your consideration, ladies. I would love to stay and chat, but unfortunately my prefect duties demand my presence elsewhere."

Hermione's trunk and Titus' cage settled in the luggage racks above them, and with a final incline of his head, Lucius exited the compartment. After a deliberate pause of a few silent moments, the three girls burst into giggles—Dahlia and Claudia, most prominently, as Judith's nervous titter seemed to indicate more of a desire to fit in than genuine amusement—and they all focused the considerable force of their attention upon Hermione.

"Your brother is positively charming," Dahlia gushed, and Claudia nodded in rapid agreement.

"Is it true that he's engaged to Narcissa Black?" Claudia demanded, and Hermione fought to keep her annoyance off her face, instead smiling in what she hoped was a convincing fashion.

"I really can't say before any official announcements are issued." She replied, and Dahlia wrinkled her little pug nose in response.

"Oh, rubbish, that's what you say in front of the adults, but if we're going to be your friends, you really must tell us!" It was said wish a rush of girlish enthusiasm, but Hermione caught the glint of real threatening challenge in Dahlia's eyes, and fought back a tide of rising dislike for the girl.

Deciding to switch tack slightly, Hermione shifted in her seat and gave them a conspiratorial smirk.

"Well, I really don't know if there's been any discussion of contracts between Papa and Mr. Black, but I do know that Lucius couldn't take his eyes off of her at the Vernal ball this year. They danced for nearly an hour."

The girls exploded into giggles once more. Hermione hoped they would be satisfied with this little tidbit of fluffy nothingness, and that Dahlia would perceive this as Hermione ceding to her obvious dominance of the little group.

"You were at the Vernal ball?" Judith piped up for the first time, a tone of longing in her soft voice.

Dahlia gave the other girl a rather nasty look.

"Well _obviously_ she was, Judy, the Malfoys _host_ the Vernal ball. Everyone knows that."

Claudia snickered as Judith's lily-white cheeks bloomed with color, and Hermione felt pity for the girl as her place within the group dynamic became increasingly clear. Deciding to try to knock the beastly Dahlia down a peg or two—she was only a _Parkinson_ after all, the part of her that was purely Malfoy sneered, it wouldn't do for her to believe she could order Hermione about—she clasped her hands together and fixed the girl with a look of polite inquiry.

"Were _you_ in attendance at our ball this year, Miss Parkinson?"

She knew for a fact she had not been, as the Parkinsons had deliberately been excluded from the guest list that year due to a recent scandal involving the family heir apparent running off to Paris to be with some no-name French muggleborn. Her governess, Madame Pelletier, had informed her of this bit of gossip with the air of thinly-veiled delight she always displayed whenever discussing the fall of one of her social betters. Claudia and Judith had clearly heard the rumors as well, if their expressions of poorly-concealed intrigue were anything to judge by, and it was Dahlia's turn to blush.

"No," She finally responded stiffly, "I was not. Regrettably, my family was on holiday on the Continent and could not attend."

"A pity." Hermione said, in a tone that indicated it was anything but. "I do hope that next year your family will be able to resist the… _considerable charms_ of the Continent, and be in attendance."

Dahlia's deep flush grew even more pronounced, and when Claudia issued a cough that sounded suspiciously like it might conceal a laugh at her friend's expense, the girl glared at her.

Appearing entirely cowed (at least for the moment), the Parkinson girl pulled a copy of _Witch Weekly_ from her dragonskin bag—the same one Gladys had been reading a few days earlier, Hermione noted—and, seeming to forgive her friend for her disloyalty, quickly drew Claudia into a chattering discussion about hair-extension charms.

As an ear-splitting whistle sounded through the steam engine, and the train began its slow progress towards picking up speed, Hermione chanced a glance at the girl sitting next to her. Gratitude and admiration shone from dark eyes, and when Hermione smiled tentatively, Judith Burke mouthed a timid _thank you_.

* * *

It was in the Great Hall, bundled amongst the crowd of nervously shuffling First Years, that Hermione caught sight of Sirius for the first time since the ball. He was whispering conspiratorially with a bespectacled boy with untidy black hair whose appearance made Hermione's heart ache more than it had any right to, considering she had never actually met James Potter—in this life or the other.

 _Oh, he looks so much like Harry. Everyone always said so, but actually seeing it is quite another thing._ The small voice of Old Hermione quietly stated.

Hermione had to agree that 'quite another thing' about seemed to cover it. It was surreal to see James, his grinning profile currently in her line of sight, when she had spent so many nights dreaming of a boy who could practically be his twin.

Hoping to catch Sirius's eye—as he was the only person her age she had met thus far, besides perhaps the shy Judith, who she felt at all compelled to befriend—she kept her gaze trained on the two boys, but her attempts to capture his attention were aborted by the familiar authoritative voice of Minerva McGonagall

"Avery, Asterion."

The Avery boy, tall for his age and dressed in immaculately tailored robes, was swiftly sorted into Slytherin. Sirius, immediately following him, went to Gryffindor after a few long minutes' deliberation under the tattered brim of the Sorting hat.

His expression, when the hat was lifted off, was a combination of apprehensive and elated, a sort of hysterical delirium that turned into a beaming grin as the Gryffindor table erupted into distinctly rowdier and less decorous cheers than the Slytherins had. As he made his way over to join his new housemates, Hermione finally succeeded in catching his eye, and his grin broadened slightly.

From directly next to her, Hermione heard the hissed whispers of Dahlia, Claudia, and some other girls as they discussed this newest bit of gossip—the Black heir, sorted into Gryffindor. Did this mean that he wouldn't get his inheritance?

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that day, Hermione quietly waited her turn to be called, fighting down the nervousness that was beginning to make itself known. She had been so anxious to begin Hogwarts for the obvious reason of concealing her knowledge of the future from her peers and professors that she had forgotten to worry about the Sorting. But now she was making up for her previous negligence.

Judith had already gone to Slytherin, and the pack of first years had thinned considerably, by the time McGonagall called out,

"Malfoy, Hermione."

What would the sorting hat make of her mental tenant?, Hermione wondered as she ascended the dais to take a seat upon the worn stool before Minerva. Her last sight of the hall as the hat was lowered upon her head was Sirius giving her a cheeky thumbs up from his new position at the Gryffindor table, and Lucius looking at her from his seat at the head of Slytherin's with a quiet expectancy.

There was nearly thirty seconds of silence after the hat had been lowered upon her head, and for a moment Hermione wondered if the old enchanted object was somehow malfunctioning. But after a moment, a familiar gravelly voice echoed through her head.

 _"Well. I must say, Miss Malfoy—or is it Miss Granger?—I have seen a great many unusual things in my time at this school. You may be one of the most bizarre."_

 _"Should I feel insulted?"_ She wondered, and a rusty chuckle seemed to reverberate about her cranium.

 _"Certainly not. When you have been in existence as long as I have, you begin to better appreciate deviation from the ordinary."_

 _"I'd imagine so. So you've never encountered anyone with a…circumstance similar to my own?"_

 _"No, I did not say that. I have certainly encountered students with_ similar _situations. But never one quite like yours."_

 _"I don't suppose you could tell me anything about those students?"_ She ventured hopefully.

 _"I am well aware of how many times you have read_ Hogwarts: A History _, young Miss Malfoy. You know as well as I do that I may never divulge anything I glean during a Sorting to anyone, even the Headmaster."_

She resisted the urge to issue a defeated sigh.

 _"Yes, I know, but it never hurts to ask. So…what are you to do with me?"_

 _"An excellent question. You are aware, far more than most students, Miss Malfoy, that a high degree of personal choice is involved in the process of Sorting. Truly you might go anywhere. But I can see that, given where your ambitions lie, there would be an option far more likely to be fruitful for you than the others."_

 _"Yes, I was afraid you might say that."_

Issuing a last rusty chuckle, the hat responded,

 _"I do wish you good luck, Miss Malfoy, it is a difficult hand Fate has dealt you. While your counterpart and your advisor both provide sound counsel, warning you to be cautious with your knowledge, I would also urge you never to forget the unique power leant to you by your circumstances. Power, while dangerous, is meant to be wielded. This is something well understood by those you will join in…_ SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherin table issued a polite applause, and Lucius gave his sister a pleased smile as she descended from the dais. Glancing over at the Gryffindors across the hall, Hermione saw that Sirius was no longer smiling at her. In fact, he was no longer looking at her at all.

* * *

After a night spent fitfully sleeping in her new bed in the Slytherin dorms, plagued by dreams of a boy who looked like James Potter but had the eyes of a hardened adult, Hermione mechanically preformed her morning ablutions and went down to breakfast with the other Slytherin girls. Unsurprisingly, these consisted of the three she had shared a compartment with the previous day, and Hermione wondered, as she sat at breakfast picking at her porridge while Dahlia and Claudia viciously gossiped across from her, how long it would be before she was forced to hex the smugness right out of Parkinson.

On the way to charms, which they had first with Gryffindor, Hermione reminded herself that she was trying to cultivate alliances and smooth the way for herself, not the opposite. Dahlia, despite her relative insignificance and completely insufferable nature, would not be prudent to alienate at this point in time. This didn't stop Hermione from being immensely grateful that the tables in the charms classroom were arranged with three chairs each; she would not have to sit with her dorm-mates, who had quickly sat themselves at a table, with Dahlia shooting Hermione a look that clearly communicated she ought to be devastated not to be included.

Briskly, Hermione moved to the second row of the classroom, where she seated herself beside a rather disheveled boy in fraying robes who started slightly upon her setting her books down next to him. The boy, who she saw looked slightly peaky with pale skin and dark circles under his eyes, began fidgeting with the sleeve of his robes, slowly unravelling a thread and twisting it between his fingers.

Returning her attention to the classroom at large, Hermione observed as the room grew noticeably louder and almost _brighter_ as Sirius and James tumbled inside, James with his glasses askew and hair even more untidy than usual, Sirius with his tie entirely crooked and his shirt buttons misaligned. She assumed, as the laughing boys took the table closest to the back of the classroom, that they had woken up late.

As a beaming Professor Flitwick commenced his lecture, Hermione fondly watched the little man demonstrate several eye-widening (at least to First Years) charms, and enthusiastically speak about the wide and varied applications of his field of expertise. Hermione observed the tatty boy next to her frantically taking notes, his cramped handwriting quickly filling the parchment in front of him, his eyes round with enthusiasm. She couldn't help but think that that was how Old Hermione had looked, in her memories of her time at Hogwarts.

As Professor Flitwick indicated that they should flip to a certain page in their textbooks, she watched the boy's ears grow noticeably pink as he withdrew a raggedy and tattered copy-that was three editions behind the one that had been on the book list-from his knapsack, and placed it on the table next to Hermione's brand new copy. Knowing it was the best thing she could possibly do, Hermione pretended not to notice a thing about the book, instead appearing to focus all her attention on the diminutive professor at the head of the room.

But when she heard a disappointed gasp from her left she couldn't help but glance over, observing that the boy beside her was staring dejectedly down at a page that was entirely unreadable due to an dubious purple stain spreading across the bulk of the text. Averting her gaze once more, Hermione wordlessly pushed her text in his direction so that it was aligned exactly in the center of their two seats, studiously ignoring the boy's eyes on her. After a moment he turned his attention down to the book between them, and they passed the rest of the class silently sharing the textbook while he took fastidious notes and Hermione allowed her mind to wander.

As the clock tower tolled, signaling the end of the class period, Hermione quickly packed up her things and exited the classroom, eager to avoid Dahlia and her sycophants. Just as she was starting off down the mostly empty corridor outside the charms classroom, however, the girl was forestalled by a hesitant,

"Wait..."

Fixing an inquisitive expression in place, she turned on her heel to face the boy, who had obviously pursued her out of the room. Running a hand through his sandy hair, the boy shifted from foot to foot anxiously, and Old Hermione whispered that there was something achingly familiar about him and his mannerisms.

"Er...I just wanted to say thanks. For letting me share your book." He said lamely, and Hermione shrugged.

"I don't mind." Suddenly struck by an impulse, she reached into her shoulder bag and withdrew the text, proffering it to the Gryffindor. "Here, take it. You may as well."

The boy looked shocked, and then a look of mulish stubbornness overtook his wan features.

"No, you need it to study. Besides, I can't just accept...charity." He mumbled this last bit at his shoes, and Hermione was reminded, for a moment, of Old Hermione's Ron.

"No, really, please take it. I have an extra copy, my father insisted I have a spare in case of damages." She lied smoothly.

It wouldn't do to tell him that she wouldn't be doing much studying in any case, seeing as how she had the memories of an adult witch to coast her through the highly rudimentary spells and theory the book contained. He still looked hesitant, and so she continued,

"I know for a fact that you can't check textbooks out of the library, and it'll take at least a week to get a new one by owl post. So at least take it until then, I do have a second copy and you wouldn't want to get behind on homework the first week of classes."

She had no intention of allowing him to return the book after a week, assuming that he wouldn't have the money to order a new copy in any case, but she couldn't say that. And she had judged him to be, much like herself, a studious type consumed with academic performance. She had guessed that invoking homework would be the ticket to compliance, and it turned out to be so, as after a long moment of seeming internal conflict, the boy hesitantly nodded and held out his hand.

She slid the book into it, smiling brilliantly.

"See, that wasn't so hard."

He smiled hesitantly in return.

"I'm Remus, by the way. Remus Lupin."

Fighting town the tide of emotions that rose from Old Hermione in response to the name, she flicked a strand of frizzing golden curl over one shoulder and said,

"Hermione. Nice to meet you."

The corridor around them was beginning to fill with students exiting their first classes and headed to their next, and Remus looked about sheepishly.

"I've got herbology out in the greenhouses, I'd best be on my way. But it was nice to meet you, Hermione. And...and thanks again. For the book." The sincerity shining from his eyes was enough to set a pool of warmth fizzing in Hermione's chest, and she waved amiably as he headed off after a group of his fellow Gryffindors who had just exited the charms classroom.

Feeling very pleasant, Hermione was about to check her timetable-she was fairly certain she had potions, but she couldn't be sure-when a familiar touch at her shoulder had her looking up from the scrap of parchment. Lucius was standing in front of her, his well-polished prefect badge pinned to his left breast and his robes immaculate. He didn't have the look of a doting older brother coming to wish his sister luck on her first day of classes, however. If anything, he looked angry, not that a casual onlooker would be able to discern anything from the serene mask that was his face. But Hermione knew better.

"Sister, if we might speak briefly?"

"Of course."

Hermione allowed herself to be lead off into a narrow side-corridor which dead-ended in a massive and very gruesome painting detailing an exceptionally bloody medieval battlefield. Attempting to ignore the knight, missing both of his legs, who was silently wailing at her from the corner of the painting nearest to her, Hermione fixed her attention upon her brother.

"I have to be getting to class, Lucius, surely this can wait?"

"This won't take long. And I can write a note to Professor Slughorn excusing your tardiness if need be."

Briefly wondering how he knew her timetable already when she herself didn't-and then reminding herself that there was very little Lucius didn't know when it came to members of his own house, of which she was now one-she frowned, and made a brief gesture for him to continue.

"Hermione, surely you understand the importance of being seen in the company of... _suitable_ people." He began, and Hermione fought the urge to sigh.

She should have seen this coming. He was continuing, however, and she endeavored to appear respectfully interested in whatever he was about to say.

"You represent not only yourself, but your house and, most importantly, your family. Malfoys do not lower themselves to association with the low-born, unless it is strictly a matter of business or social necessity. It is very important that you make the _right_ friends, Hermione, do you understand?"

"Of course, brother." She said, smiling vacantly, and her brother narrowed his eyes at her seeming flippancy.

"I do not believe you do. These are dangerous times we live in, sister, and to be seen with the wrong sort of people..."

Hermione, already tenuously holding onto her temper, slipped a bit.

"And what is the alternative, Lucius? To do away with 'the wrong sort of people' entirely like that lunatic Bellatrix thinks?" She snapped, and Lucius, usually so calmly detached, looked shocked.

Fixing her with a deadly serious look, he drew her even further into the shadows of the bloody painting.

"Foolish sister. You must not speak of such things so loudly, you never know who might overhear you. What do you know of Bellatrix Black?" He demanded.

Hermione, having planned to keep the encounter in the kitchens several months ago to herself, mentally berated herself. Reluctantly she related the whole tale to her brother, who grew paler by the moment. By the time she finished, his lips had drawn together in a tight line.

"Father has spoken to me of this." He admitted quietly. "He is...hesitant to make the commitment the Dark Lord so desires. He does not wish to put us in a vulnerable position, and he wishes to keep you removed from these matters entirely. Seemingly futile, what with your propensity for improper behavior and troublemaking." A fond little smirk played at the corners of his lips at this, and Hermione smiled back.

He grew serious again, taking her by the shoulders and squeezing lightly.

"Still, it is useful to know that his main concern lies with our resources. Father said that Lestrange presented it as a partnership of sorts, the Dark Lord being desirous of Father's political and strategic advice, but of course Father had his suspicions that it would be more exploitive than that. I shall owl him immediately. But from now on, Hermione, you must not concern yourself with such things. Father would be furious if he knew you had been anywhere near any of this."

He seemed about to say something else, when a sudden scuffle from the end of the corridor caught their attention. Her brother immediately brought his wand up to bear on the intruders, who turned out to be the by now familiar figures of James Potter and Sirius Black.

"I'm telling you, it's disgusting; intestines spilling out, blood and guts everywhere!" Sirius was saying enthusiastically, obviously leading his friend down the corridor with the intention of showing him the horrific portrait behind the two Malfoy siblings.

Upon noticing the aforementioned siblings, the elder of whom was treating them to a positively glacial sneer, Sirius drew up short, James bumping into his back with a strangled yelp.

"First year Gryffindors have herbology down at the greenhouses, which began...ten minutes ago." Lucius said coldly, pausing only briefly to glance down at his wristwatch. "Ten points from Gryffindor for tardiness, and get to class immediately."

Potter spluttered at the injustice of this, while Sirius glared at Lucius mutinously. Hermione felt her eyebrows come together in displeasure when his gaze shifted to her and he rudely pointed.

"What about her? She's a first-year too, shouldn't she be in class?"

"Miss Malfoy and I are having a private discussion, and she will have a note from me excusing her when she arrives in class shortly. Five points from Gryffindor for talking back to a prefect." He responded cooly, ignoring Potter's continued squawking and Sirius' icy glare. "I suggest you be on your way if you do not wish to lose your house further points."

Sirius's hand strayed to his pocket, and Hermione watched incredulously, sure he couldn't be that stupid, but the forestalling hand of his friend seemed to convince him not to do anything rash.

"Let's just go, mate." Potter muttered.

With a last resentful look and a mutter of, "Bloody Slytherins," Sirius allowed himself to be tugged off by his slightly more prudent companion.

Rolling his eyes, Lucius drew a prefect's note from his front robe pocket and quickly inscribed a message in his elegant hand excusing her to Professor Slughorn for her tardiness. As the two siblings headed off in the direction of the dungeons, Lucius on his free period and determined to see her safely to her next class, she couldn't resist smugly commenting,

"See, brother, breeding is hardly an infallible indicator of a person's quality."

Lucius remained silent, seeming to have no response to this statement.

* * *

 **A/N: For all who have followed, favorited, and reviewed, thank you very much! It's still crazy to me that there are actually other humans out there in the world who want to read my writing. Wacky stuff!**

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	4. Uncomfortable Parallels

Chapter Four

Uncomfortable Parallels

December, 1971

A towering blue spruce dominated the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, its boughs shimmering with the glitter and flash of fairy wings as the little creatures flitted about the fragrant needles. The light reflected spectacularly off the countless wrought silver ornaments that had been arranged earlier that afternoon by a small army of house elves perched atop precariously tall ladders. And the drawing room itself was illuminated by hundreds of twinkling candles, tasteful Yuletide decorations completing the picture of splendid, welcoming grandeur.

Hermione hated it. The drawing room, despite looking entirely unrecognizable as the darkened torture chamber from Old Hermione's memories, still made the hair on the back of her neck rise and her skin crawl.

Ordinarily, Yule at Malfoy Manor was a rather subdued affair. Lysithea had passed away shortly after the holiday, and Abraxas always fell into a dark mood this time of year. The evening generally consisted of a quiet formal dinner, after which gifts would be exchanged and Abraxas would disappear to his study, leaving his children to entertain themselves. Occasionally they travelled to France to celebrate the holiday with family, but that was rare as Abraxas and his father, Hyperion, had a tempestuous relationship and were not on speaking terms with some regularity.

But this year was different. Lucius and Narcissa's contract had at last been finalized a month prior, and Abraxas had grudgingly agreed to host the engagement party at the manor on Yule. He had enlisted his daughter's help with the decorations, no doubt thinking she would find directing the house elves in the arrangement of color-changing tinsel and enchanted holly boughs amusing. But unfortunately for Abraxas, his daughter was not an ordinary eleven-year-old girl, and far from being consumed with thoughts of color-changing tinsel, her mind was occupied with rumination on the subject of destroying Dark wizards.

Ursula had advised her, time and again, to keep away from the life-and-death struggle between Light and Dark that had characterized Old Hermione's existence. The mind-healer had passionately urged her not to let herself become consumed by her memories of a past life, instead fighting to form an identity separate from that of her counterpart's. Old Hermione, despite her unwavering conviction that Voldemort and all his followers deserved to be destroyed, had expressed agreement.

It would be quite unfair, she had said in one of their odd dream meetings in the country garden that had in fact been the garden behind Old Hermione's family home, for her to superimpose herself over her younger incarnation. Hermione deserved to live a life in which she could make her own choices and become her own person, and if those choices did not involve the destruction of Voldemort, well, then Old Hermione hardly deserved a say in it.

But even separate from Old Hermione's memories, Hermione was beginning to see the darkness and destruction that Voldemort's increasing power would bring to her world. Ever since their conversation in the battlefield painting alcove three months earlier, Hermione had begun to notice that her brother looked strained. Of course, he continued diligently with his prefect duties and persisted in achieving top marks, but she could see a wanness in him, a constant _something_ lurking behind his eyes that Hermione had eventually identified as fear. Her older counterpart had shown her her memories of Draco, Lucius's son, during their sixth year at Hogwarts, and Hermione had seen that same desperate something lurking beneath her future nephew's lovely blue-gray eyes.

It also didn't help that, despite her brother's warnings, Hermione had developed a strong friendship with Remus in the past months. He was intelligent and quietly mature in a way that Hermione had not been able to find in any of her other peers, and had a surprisingly wicked sense of humor. She supposed it made sense—he was friends with Sirius and James, after all—but it had seemed somewhat incongruous with the memories Old Hermione had of a young professor tired and gray beyond his years. In any case, the thought that Remus, as a half-blood and a werewolf, would be resigned to death, exploitation, or worse under Bellatrix and her kind, made Hermione's blood boil even as fear gripped her heart.

It was bad enough bearing witness to Old Hermione's memories of the boy who reminded her so hauntingly of James Potter lose everything at Voldemort's hand as a mere child, or of Old Hermione herself being tortured to the brink of insanity on the very marble floor on which she currently stood. But to think of her brother, turned into the twisted and cowardly man from Old Hermione's memories, or of Remus, losing everyone he cared about and left in bitter, grieving solitude, was another thing entirely. Even the thought of Sirius—who had been nothing but cruel and unpleasant to her following his and James's run-in with her and Lucius—locked up in soul-crushing Azkaban for a crime he had not committed made fear and sorrow thrum through her in equal measure.

The destruction wrought by Voldemort's insane evil was no longer just dreams and recollections of the suffering of unfamiliar people; it was looming as a very real threat to people that Hermione loved. And Hermione, in this life or any other, had never been one to sit by and let people she cared for be hurt.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the familiar figure of Abraxas Malfoy swept into the drawing room, the handful of house-elves putting the finishing touches on the decorations squealing with surprise and hurrying to dip into low bows before their master. Ignoring the creatures, Abraxas cocked an eyebrow at his daughter, who was standing vacantly in the middle of the room, still wearing her day-time robes despite the rapid approach of six o'clock, when the guests would begin to arrive.

Noting her father's trademark eyebrow raise—that Lucius was always attempting to imitate but could not make quite so wordlessly intimidating as his father—Hermione fixed him with a beatific smile.

"Just making sure the final preparations go smoothly, Papa. I got a bit caught up in all the tinsel, I'm afraid."

Abraxas smiled slightly. He felt some measure of guilt for the dreary affair Yuletide usually was in his household, and was glad his daughter was enjoying preparing for his son's engagement party. The party itself, however, had been weighing on Lord Malfoy's mind for some time—and not just because of his aversion to flamboyant celebrations this time of year.

The guest list for the evening included all of Narcissa's immediate family, of course, alongside a a great many extended Black relatives and a number of other prominent families. Unfortunately, this had meant extending invitations to a good many people Abraxas would rather avoid at this very moment, including his future daughter-in-law's oldest sister. The political situation was growing increasingly unstable, largely owing to many of the people who would be in attendance that evening, and Abraxas knew it was only a matter of time before he would no longer be able to maintain the neutrality he had been insisting upon for so long.

Looking down at his daughter, who seemed to more closely resemble his late wife with every passing year, Abraxas was reminded of why he had so persistently avoided attempts from both the Ministry and the Dark Lord's followers to glean his support all these years. The safety of his family was what concerned him beyond all else, and while Lucius was old and capable enough by this point to manage himself, his daughter was entirely too young and innocent to weather the turmoil that involvement in the mounting conflict would bring down upon the house of Malfoy. No, Abraxas thought firmly, his hand would not be forced in this matter, for the sake of his youngest child if nothing else.

"The drawing room looks lovely." He complimented the girl, and she wrinkled her nose in response.

"I still don't see why we had to hold the festivities in here, Papa. The smaller ballroom would have been better."

"I've told you, Hermione, this is supposed to be a more intimate affair, and the small ballroom is too large. I've never understood your odd aversion to the drawing room." He said patiently, deciding not to comment on his daughter's distinctly unladylike expression.

Perhaps he was a bit too lax with the girl—or at least, if one were to take the gossiping society matrons' word for it—but Abraxas thought it best to pick his battles. Without his wife, he had been quite lost on how to raise a proper pureblood lady, but he was rather pleased with his sharply intelligent and opinionated daughter, no matter what the matrons might have to say about her mannerisms and comportment.

"It's positively dreary in here," She sniffed, "And that portrait of Bacchus Travers is ghastly."

Ignoring the outraged exclamation of the portrait in question, which was indeed of a rather exceptionally ugly ancestor on his mother's side, Abraxas fixed his daughter with a stern eye.

"Shouldn't you be dressed? It's approaching six o'clock."

Treating her father to a very prim look indeed, Hermione turned on her heel and headed in the direction of the staircase leading to the landing above, throwing over her shoulder,

"I'd make certain one of the elves covers that portrait with some tinsel, if I were you. There will be children and ladies in attendance, after all."

Abraxas chuckled slightly at the responding indignant squawks of the ancestral portrait, even as he gestured for one of the nearby house-elves to string up a wreath directly over it.

* * *

The party was indeed an 'intimate' affair, at least by the standards of a family of the Malfoys' standing; less than a hundred witches and wizards were in attendance, most of them closely related to the Malfoys or the Blacks (which was, admittedly, a significant portion of the older families).

The Parkinsons, once again, had been excluded from the guest list, but this was likely due more to a lack of significant blood relation rather than their heir apparent's choice in romantic partner. The Burkes were in attendance, however, and Hermione was enjoying the rare opportunity to converse with the shy but surprisingly articulate Judith without the overbearing presence of Dahlia, when their conversation was interrupted by the surprising interjection of one Walburga Black.

Breaking off her quiet conversation with Judith, off to one side of the main activity—which was of course clustered around Lucius and Narcissa, both of whom were receiving the diligent congratulations of their relatives with characteristic grace—Hermione curtsied before the imposing woman, who was resplendent that evening in robes of deep wine red. Judith followed suit, her onyx eyes wide at the sight of the intimidating Black Matriarch.

"Miss Malfoy, how lovely to see you again." Walburga intoned, and Hermione noticed for the first time the figure of a young, pale-faced boy by her side.

It could only be Regulus, Hermione realized, as she briefly noted his strong resemblance to Sirius and those unmistakable dove gray eyes that seemed to be characteristic of the Black family.

"Mrs. Black, the pleasure is all mine. May I present my friend from school, Judith Burke? She is, of course, Augustus Burke's daughter, I'm sure you're acquainted with him."

Walburga inclined her head.

"Miss Burke. My husband, Orion, does business with your father from time to time, and your mother is a distant cousin of mine." Returning her attention to Hermione, Walburga brought a commanding hand to her son's shoulder, and shifted him prominently in front of her. "I wanted to introduce you to my son, Regulus. He will be starting Hogwarts next year and I wished for him to become acquainted with some suitable people his own age."

There it was again, Hermione thought wryly, that deliberately ambiguous term 'suitable people.' Shrewdly regarding the boy before her, she wondered if Walburga might have designs involving his marriage prospects. The woman's brother now had a strong marriage alliance with the powerful Malfoy clan, and she was sure Walburga wouldn't shy away from the opportunity to establish such a connection herself. Sirius, no doubt, would be impossible to corral into such an arrangement, and Hermione noted that he was not in attendance that evening. Likely left at home to conceal the shame his Sorting (and generally rebellious temperament) caused his parents.

Letting none of these thoughts show on her face, she curtsied to Regulus, who hurried to bow in response, looking very nervous indeed. His mother had likely informed him of the importance of making a good impression with the Malfoys.

"Very good to make your acquaintance, Mr. Black."

Judith murmured something along the same lines, and Mrs. Black nodded with apparent satisfaction.

"So good to see new friendships blossoming between the young." She proclaimed, and Hermione had to fight the urge not to openly snort at the attempt at a maternal smile gracing the woman's features. "I'll leave you all to become better acquainted, I must give the young couple my congratulations."

With that she swept off, with a last significant look at her son, who Hermione swore she saw nervously gulp. There was a beat of awkward silence, before Hermione decided she really ought to put the poor boy out of his misery.

"Have you tried the roasted pheasant? It's really quite good."

With the addition of food, the conversation seemed to flow more naturally, and Hermione was slowly able to coax Regulus out of his shell a bit. It turned out that he had quite the eye for quidditch, and—much to Hermione's surprise—so did Judith. The two were engaged in an animated discussion of different makes of beaters bats (which, up to this point, Hermione had been making a valiant effort to appear interested in) when her attention was drawn by the sight of Rodolphus Lestrange and a squat and highly unattractive man, who Old Hermione distastefully informed her was Amycus Carrow, conversing with her brother.

Lestrange made a small gesture, and Lucius nodded stiffly, following the two men out of the drawing room, likely ostensibly for a tour of the Malfoy library or something equally innocuous. Politely excusing herself to her companions, Hermione slipped out after them, quickly pressing herself into a shadowy alcove as she watched the three men make their way up the great spiral staircase to the second landing. Quietly in pursuit, she tucked herself behind a conveniently-placed statue of her ancestor Armand Malfoy, as the three men drew up short about halfway down the hallway.

"Has your father considered our proposition?" Lestrange demanded, seeming unconcerned with pleasantries.

"He has." Lucius drawled, and Hermione couldn't help but feel proud at how entirely unshaken her brother sounded in the face of the two Death Eaters.

"And?" Carrow demanded, Hermione fighting the urge to retch at the sound of his reedy, whingy voice.

"He believes it to be a matter that requires careful consideration. He has yet to reach a decision." Lucius said.

Hermione heard one of the Death Eaters issue a frustrated sigh.

"The Dark Lord wants a response _now_ , Malfoy, and he is not a man accustomed to waiting. Your father will not put it off forever."

"I do not believe he has any intention to do so." Lucius replied mildly.

Lestrange's tone changed, and Hermione heard what she assumed to be the sound of him taking a step closer to her brother.

"And what about you, Lucius? What do _you_ think of our cause? You would be a useful addition. With your family's money and influence, not to mention your well-known skill with a wand, you could easily become one of the Dark Lord's most valued followers."

There was a moment of silence.

"Malfoys, generally speaking, are no one's followers." Lucius said silkily. "But I shall not discount the opportunity. Be assured, I shall take it into consideration."

"You and your father's time will be up soon enough, Malfoy. And mark my words: when it is, you don't want to be on the wrong side."

"As I said, I shall take the offer under serious consideration. Now, I'm afraid I really must be getting back. This party is for me, after all." Once again, Hermione couldn't help but feel pride at her brother's even, opaque tone.

The three men passed by her hiding spot moments later, and she let out a tense breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding in.

So Abraxas still would not commit his support to Voldemort. By this point, Hermione was certain it had to do with her presence. Her father loved her fiercely, and she did not doubt the ends he would go to to protect her; as soon as he chose a side, things would become more dangerous than ever for his children. But Lestrange had been right that her family would not be able to remain neutral indefinitely. It seemed to her there was no way to avoid her brother joining Voldemort's ranks, and the thought filled her mouth with a bitter taste.

 _But there's something you forget._ The comforting voice of Old Hermione whispered to her. _When Lucius does become a Death Eater, it's just as Lestrange said: he very quickly becomes one of Voldemort's most trusted followers._

 _And this is a good thing because?_

 _Because it means he will entrust Lucius with something quite important._

The image of a tattered black leather journal presented itself to Hermione's mind's eye.

 _You will be—_

 _I'll be in a prime position to destroy one of his horcruxes._ Hermione finished, a small spark of hope igniting itself in her chest.

 _Exactly. And not just the one. With your connections in pureblood society, you're uniquely suited to acquire almost all the others. Regulus, that pale little boy downstairs in the drawing room? He could be your means of acquiring the locket. Only this time, you could ensure he doesn't die in the process._

 _And the Lestranges…I imagine it would be feasible to exploit my connection to them through Narcissa somehow. She will be Rodolphus's sister-in-law, after all._

 _Yes, precisely. You, Hermione Malfoy, are perhaps the person in the world at this moment with the best chance of defeating Lord Voldemort._

At these words, a thrill equal parts fear and excitement shot up her spine.

* * *

January, 1972

Remus Lupin had never had many friends. He had had a few companions at primary school, before The Attack, but that had changed (along with absolutely everything else) following his infection with Lycanthropy. Since coming to Hogwarts, his life had been turned upside down by the realization that, quite suddenly, he had several people his own age who actually seemed to like him.

James and Sirius had become his constant companions almost immediately, two dervishes of mischief and energy that had him rolling his eyes and laughing along at their fun in equal measure. And with the later addition of their fourth dorm-mate, Peter, who was pleasant and good-natured if a bit shy, Remus rarely if ever found himself wanting for company.

And then there was Hermione Malfoy, quite arguably his very first friend at Hogwarts. The fiercely intelligent and elegantly-mannered girl had surprised him with her kindness the very first day of classes, presenting him with a brand-new copy of their charms textbook when his own had been severely lacking. When, that very evening, Sirius and James had spent all of dinner griping about how she was an insufferable Slytherin prat who had lost them fifteen points and therefor was nothing short of pure evil, Remus had kept his mouth shut, not wanting to damage his burgeoning rapport with the two boys.

A week later, he had come across the girl in the library, browsing through a shelf of books on mind magic, and gazing longingly over at the Restricted Section. When she had asked him if he'd like to join her in preparing for their upcoming charms exam, he had accepted—more out of surprise than anything else.

His surprise had grown as they spent the next two hours in the library together, and he was presented with an exceptionally intelligent, funny, and pleasant girl. Moreover, he had noticed that she had no charms text of her own—suspicious considering that was the reason she had come to the library—and he had realized she must have lied to him about having a second copy of the book. That realization was truly what had cemented his positive regard for Hermione Malfoy, and they had been fast friends ever since.

She had visited him in the Hospital Wing every month that term, always bringing with her a case of Honeydukes chocolates (how she acquired them, given they were not yet allowed trips down to the village, he hadn't asked). They revised together in the library nearly every week, although it was really more accurate to say that Remus revised whilst Hermione read books that often had nothing to do with what they were studying in class (how she still achieved top marks on all their exams, he exasperatedly did not ask). She was kind and smart and, most importantly, _wanted to be his friend_ (and why this was, exactly, Remus also never asked, afraid that if he ever did, it would all evaporate away like morning dew).

So it was that on a blindingly sunny morning in January, as Remus was pulling his socks on, he felt compelled to interject himself into James and Sirius's animated conversation.

"She'll never see it coming, mate. We've been looking for a way to get back at Malfoy for ages, this is the perfect opportunity." Sirius was saying, a devious delight on his face as he carelessly threw on his uniform shirt.

"It's brilliant!" James was crowing, his own shirt already buttoned and his glasses recently located and jammed on. "That mad hair of hers is practically a bird's nest already, we'd just be…er…encouraging new residents to move in."

The two boys snickered, and Remus, taking a bracing breath, turned to the two of them, fighting back a laugh at the sight of Sirius hopping about on one foot as he tried to pull his trousers up.

"Mates, I really don't think you should hex Hermione. In fact…in fact, I won't let you."

Sirius and James, their snickers falling silent, turned to Remus with expressions of surprise. Pete, already dressed and quietly waiting for his dorm-mates, gave Remus a wide-eyed look. Reminding himself that he had made a firm decision about this—even if it meant losing three quarters of the people who now made his days bright and worthwhile—Remus fixed his friends with a stern look.

"I know you two don't like her, and you're entitled to your opinion. But she's my friend."

"She's a bloody Slytherin, Remus!" Sirius protested. "And a Malfoy! I know she's been nice to you," At this he looked very sceptical, but nonetheless continued, "but trust me, I know her sort; she's only being nice to get something out of it. People like her just aren't trustworthy."

James nodded in agreement.

"He's right, Remus, the Malfoys are a really nasty lot. You might not know because you're a half-blood, but my dad said that her father, Abraxas, is a right shifty bloke. He's got half the Ministry paid off, and Dad reckons he supports You-Know-Who."

Remus twitched slightly at the half-blood comment. James, he knew, was hardly a bigot, but his pureblood upbringing showed in moments like these. There were many things he just assumed, including that Remus would be less well-informed on matters of wizarding society due to his blood and economic status. Sirius, who was nodding, was the same.

"I'm well aware of the Malfoys' reputation." He said, rather stiffly. "But the Blacks aren't any better, are they?"

A flame of anger sprung to life in Sirius's eyes at the mention of his family, and Remus almost regretted the comment. He hurried to continue.

"You're one of my best mates, Sirius. All I'm saying is that it doesn't matter to me who anyone's family is; Hermione has never been anything but a good friend, and that's all that matters to me. Hex all the bloody Slytherins you like, but I don't let people hurt or embarrass my friends."

Sirius, the anger in his eyes now less pronounced, exchanged a hesitant glance with James. After a moment, he spoke, and Remus found himself surprised. Usually James was the more level-headed and reasonable of the two, and he was shocked to witness Sirius reigning in his usually formidable temper to make a concession before James.

"Alright, mate, we'll leave Malfoy alone. But don't say I didn't warn you when she curses you in the back."

With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the dormitory, his shirt only half buttoned and his tie conspicuously absent. Heading down to the Common Room, he resentfully hurled himself into an armchair near the window, ignoring the quizzical looks shot his way by two fourth-year girls sitting nearby.

He was deeply uncomfortable with the parallel his friend had just drawn between him and that odious Malfoy girl. He was nothing like her! She was a Slytherin, for Merlin's sake, why was Remus so willing to disregard this crucial detail?

Unbidden, his thoughts turned to the night he had first met her, months before the start of first term. Seeking escape from the endless pleasantries and unbearable pomposity of the Malfoys' annual ball celebrating the Vernal Equinox, he had sought refuge in the kitchens, only to have his solitude disturbed by the appearance of a girl his own age. He recalled, reluctantly, how much he had enjoyed talking with her, and how he had been caught off guard by her sense of humor and her easy way with him; she was not giggly, fluttery, or self-important like all the other girls his age he had been introduced to, and he found himself easily taking a liking to her. When he had caught sight of her at the Sorting, he had been happy to see that they were in the same year after all.

But then she had been Sorted into Slytherin. And she was a Malfoy. Now that he and his family were barely on speaking terms—the holidays at Grimmauld Place had been torturous, only made bearable by the presence of his little brother—this meant that she would likely turn up her little well-bred nose at him, disgraced heir that he was. Not that he wanted anything to do with her either, he hastily reminded himself.

Horrifically enough, he had had the misfortune to overhear his parents discussing the girl on Yule, as they prepared to attend the engagement party of her prat brother and his cousin Narcissa. Sirius, much to his relief, had been informed by his mother that he would not be attending with them-as his mother didn't trust him to 'comport himself appropriately'.

"A more permanent alliance with the Malfoys could be exceptionally advantageous." He had heard his father say as he passed by his parents' bedroom. "Abraxas' political influence only grows, and they have no shortage of gold. Our link through Narcissa is not unsubstantial, but think of the opportunities that would be afforded by a...closer connection."

Folding himself against the wall by their door, he had chanced a glance inside, to see his father fastening the cufflinks on his stiff black dressrobes while his mother sat at her vanity, Kreacher helping arrange her hair. He hoped to Merlin they weren't talking about what he thought they might be; there was no way in Hades he was marrying that Malfoy bint.

"This is true, but there are rumors about the Malfoy girl. Abraxas guards her like a dragon does his hoard, and she has little exposure to polite society; he would not allow her to attend High Teas or even dance lessons with the other girls her age. She seemed suitable enough when I was introduced to her at the Vernal Ball, but I am concerned she may not have the skills one would expect of a lady of her breeding."

"I hardly think it matters if the girl can conduct appropriate tea-time conversation, Walburga, so long as she brings her father's gold and political support with her. Ensure that she and Regulus are introduced, won't you?"

Sirius, hearing the approach of footsteps, had fled downstairs. The whole night, which he spent thumbing through the muggle magazines he had procured from Pete and Remus and had hidden away under his armoire upon arriving home for the holidays, he thought with pity of his younger brother, who was no doubt being forcibly thrust upon Hermione Malfoy by their overbearing parents. He couldn't help feeling relieved, however, that they had seemed to easily realize he would not be coerced into an 'alliance' with the girl.

No, he thought, getting up and heading down to breakfast with newly hardened resolve, Remus was clearly delusional. The witch he thought was his friend wasn't any different from the other girls of her station; she would use Remus for whatever nefarious purpose her twisted Slytherin brain had cooked up, and then she would discard him when he ceased to be useful. Remus was wrong; Hermione Malfoy was nothing like him.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm trying to strike a balance between exposition of the serious plot and the Sirius plot (that is, focusing somewhat equally on the Death Eaters and Hermione's plans to destroy Voldemort vs. Hermione's budding relationship with Sirius.) Please provide me with feedback on how I'm doing with that, if you're so inclined!**


	5. Odd Ducks

Chapter Five

Odd Ducks

May, 1975

SUBURBAN MUGGLE FAMILY MURDERED IN THEIR OWN HOME - MYSTERIOUS MARK LEFT ON THE SCENE, DEATH EATERS SUSPECTED

 _A family home on the outskirts of London was in flames late Thursday night, as Aurors—responding to a nearby wizarding family's report of a magical disturbance in the area—arrived on the scene. Quickly extinguishing the flames and warding the area to deter the involvement of muggle law-enforcement, the Aurors searched the home, discovering the burnt bodies of Mr. Hector Crawford, his wife Lydia, and their two young children._

 _The culprits had fled the scene, leaving nothing aside from a mark, burned into the front lawn of the home, that has by now become hauntingly familiar to the witches and wizards at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement: a snake, intertwined with a gaping skull. Some are calling it the "Dark mark", and insist that it is the calling card of He Who Must Not Be Named. Head of the DMLE, Bartemius Crouch, issued a statement regarding the killings and the mysterious mark just this morning:_

 _"I urge everyone to, above all else, not allow this symbol to strike fear into our hearts. These are uncertain times in which we live, and remaining calm is of paramount importance. Rest assured that anyone who commits crimes of this grievous nature and hides behind this mark—the origin of which, I must emphasize, we are still uncertain of—will be swiftly brought to justice."_

Hermione neatly creased the copy of _The Daily Prophet_ she had borrowed from Judith, and slid it back across the table to her fellow Slytherin, who was anxiously nibbling on a strip of bacon.

"It's getting bad, isn't it?" Judith murmured.

From the bench next to her, Severus Snape snorted and speared a kipper in a very business-like fashion.

"It's been 'getting bad' for quite some time. The Dark Lord is just beginning to become more public with his displays of power." The spindly boy declared in clipped tones, and Hermione was forced to agree, as she generally seemed to do with most things Severus had to say.

She had formed a strange friendship of sorts with the boy a few weeks into second year, mostly as a result of solidarity in their shared dislike of Sirius Black and James Potter. While Hermione would always harbor a strange, reflexive fondness for the two boys on account of Old Hermione's memories, they were positively beastly to all the Slytherins—and particularly had it out for Severus and Hermione.

Severus bore the brunt of the boys' attentions, suffering everything from magically-induced wedgies to tripping jinxes at the hands of the two Gryffindors. Although Sirius and James clearly reveled in tormenting the boy, Hermione had observed that it was hardly so simple as Potter and Black being merciless bullies and Severus an unwitting victim; the boy had a perilously sharp tongue (one of many reasons she got along so well with him), and frequently, it seemed to her, instigated his many conflicts with Potter and Black. She suspected the core of the conflict was a power struggle between Potter and the Slytherin for the affections of one Lily Evans, but of course she would never say as much to Severus-she tried to avoid being the target of his aforementioned sharp tongue whenever possible.

Hermione, in contrast to her friend, had never directly picked a fight with the boys. But this did not stop her from becoming the subject of more subtle—yet equally cutting—unkindnesses at their hands. Whenever she approached Remus while he was with his Gryffindor friends, she was sneered at and pointedly ignored, and being the object of dislike of such charismatic and popular boys had ensured that no one in their year outside of Slytherin had any interest in associating with her—except Remus of course, whose influence she suspected she had to thank for the lack of pranks and hexes.

But it wasn't like she particularly cared, Hermione thought. All the truly influential people who she needed to cultivate connections with were Slytherins. And even when she had been an entirely normal fourteen-year-old as Old Hermione, she had had little interest in most people her own age; like she was now, she had been far too absorbed with thoughts of bringing down Voldemort and saving her friends' lives to care about popularity. It didn't matter if Ravenclaw girls whispered nasty things to each other as they passed her in the halls, or older Hufflepuff boys tried to jinx her pumpkin juice at breakfast. She had all the real friends she cared for in Remus, Severus, Judith, and, most recently, Regulus Black. Old Hermione felt considerable regret at being hated by the father and godfather of one of her best friends, but Hermione was, for the most part, able to efficiently bundle these feelings away into a corner of her mind.

"Yes, he's growing rather brazen, isn't he?" She responded to Severus, and the boy grunted in acknowledgement.

Judith shivered, and Hermione thought it best to divert the topic of conversation before the naturally anxious girl became overcome with nerves.

"Anyway, to skim over the black cloud of imminent warfare currently hanging over our great nation," Judith squeaked and Severus smirked at this wry remark, "we're still planning on Hogsmeade tomorrow, yes? It's the last of the year and I've convinced Regulus to come." At this, she leveled a knowing smile at Judith, whose translucent skin flared bright red.

"I—I—yes, of course, let's all go!" The small, dark girl spluttered, quickly taking a sip of her pumpkin juice and sinking low into her seat.

Hermione and Severus exchanged amused glances and Severus said,

"Aren't you pureblood society types taught from when you're in nappies to be perfectly poised and unreadable?" He inquired archly, and Hermione chuckled.

"Some of us learn the lesson better than others."

Judith smiled reluctantly, still red as the Hogwarts Express as she returned to her eggs and bacon.

"Well, that's a _resounding_ affirmative from Miss Burke. Severus?"

Now it was Severus's turn to fidget in his seat, and Hermione raised a single eyebrow.

"I hate when you do that, you know. You look just like Lucius; I feel as though I'm a first year again, about to be scolded for being out after curfew." He commented, and she smirked; his attempt at diverting the conversation was transparent as a fairy's wing, and he knew it.

"If you think Lucius is bad, you should see my father do it. You feel as if you're about to sink into the floor. Or at least you wish you would."

Sighing after a long moment when she said nothing further, he reluctantly ground out,

"I have plans with someone else."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She wasn't sure who Severus thought he was fooling, by never mentioning Lily Evans by name in front of them, but it certainly wasn't her.

"Goodness me, it's a wonder someone so popular deigns to grace us with his presence, don't you think, Judith? He's always off to meet 'someone', he must have a million friends tucked away all throughout the castle!"

Judith snickered, glad that the considerable forces of her friends' respective wits were now trained upon each other, rather than her. Hermione and Severus never made her feel stupid or unworthy, the way Dahlia and Claudia always had. Hermione was kind and thoughtful in a way that the girls Judith had grown up with were not, and her teasing (while frequent) was never truly hurtful. And Severus, while brutally sarcastic and much blunter than most people Judith was accustomed to interacting with, had a gruff kindness about him that was rough around the edges yet no less genuine for it.

"Really a shock he finds any time at all for us." She agreed, as Severus fixed his friends with a baleful look.

Grabbing a few pieces of toast, he got to his feet, hoisting his massively overpacked book bag over one shoulder.

"Since you two insist on being insufferable, I'm off to the library. Perhaps if you're lucky I'll 'grace you with my presence' later today."

And with that he stalked off, Hermione tossing after him,

"Probably off to meet 'someone', hm?"

Still chortling to herself, Hermione helped herself to the bits of kipper Severus had left on his plate, deliberately trying not to let her eye be drawn by the photograph of the burnt-out muggle dwelling on the cover of the paper in front of her.

* * *

Spring had arrived in full force, and the ground, heavy and wet with melted snow, was bursting with brilliant green stalks of grass and the first valiant flowers. As Hermione and Judith picked their way across the grounds in the direction of the path to the village, Hermione glanced up at the sky, noting that there wasn't a single cloud in sight; the spring showers, which had been in the form of a relentless month's long drizzle, were finally over it seemed .

Regulus had agreed to meet them by the gates, and as the two girls approached, closely behind a large cluster of chattering Hufflepuffs, Hermione caught sight of his familiar figure several yards beyond the gaggle of Hufflepuffs.

Gone was the pale slip of a boy she had been introduced to at Lucius and Narcissa's engagement party three years previously; in his place was a lanky teenager, awkward with his new height but nonetheless beginning to show the signs of what would become exceptional good looks. Hermione was certain she hadn't been the only one to notice how well their young friend was growing into himself, and a sly glance at Judith—who was slightly pink and staring down at the toes of her boots—confirmed this.

Quickening her pace, Hermione waved cheerfully to the boy, and after a moment, he raised a responding hand in greeting, pushing away from the mossy castle wall.

"I've been waiting for ages." He drawled, falling into step with the girls as they swept out the gates and down the bustling footpath to the village. "Don't tell me you girls spent all this time doing your hair or something equally frivolous."

Hermione cast her friend a gimlet eye in response to this remark, but his expression remained blandly neutral aside from a teasing glint in his pale gray eyes. Regulus had a habit of making remarks that he was well aware would be offensive to present company as a means of testing people; his favorite with Hermione, as of late, had been mildly sexist remarks, just subtle enough to potentially be politely ignored but explicit enough to be obviously irritating. If she wasn't well aware he was doing it for sport, rather than any actual belief in outdated (by Old Hermione's standards, at least) notions about women, she would have hexed him by now.

"Does it look like I've just spent an hour doing my hair?" She replied waspishly, demonstratively fluffing her wild blonde curls—which did indeed look rather like she had just rolled out of bed, as per their usual state.

Regulus shrugged lazily.

"I haven't much of an eye for witches' fashion myself. For all I know, it could be in vogue to have hair that looks like an owl's nest."

Judith giggled and Hermione huffed. Regulus was really one of the few people she found could regularly match her in verbal spars, and while it was certainly stimulating and enlivening to be kept on her toes, she was quite unaccustomed to _not_ having the last word.

"You haven't much of an eye for fashion in general, if that jumper is anything to go by." She muttered, and Regulus rolled his eyes and smiled fully for the first time.

"Diggory didn't jinx your pumpkin juice again this morning, did he? You're awfully grouchy."

"I was in a fine mood until you appeared." She said, attempting a severe expression, but eventually grinning slightly when Regulus fixed her with a raised eyebrow.

"Severus isn't coming?" He inquired curiously, as the three of them approached the main avenue of the village, which was swarming with chattering groups of students weighed down with shopping bags.

"He's going with Lily Evans." Judith piped up, as Hermione led them in the direction of a charming antiques store they liked to frequent on their monthly visits to the village.

"He's still hanging about with that Evans girl, then?" Regulus sounded surprised, with an undercurrent of something else, and Hermione didn't quite like that something else.

Keeping her voice deliberately light, she replied,

"Yes. Never talks about her, he must think we would judge him for being friends with a Gryffindor. But that's ridiculous, of course, I'm friends with Remus."

Fairchild Goodes and Commodities was a pretty, airy little place at the end of High Street that always had a motley collection of everything from exorbitantly priced antique furniture to old books and vintage shoes. It was always a treat to browse through, and as Hermione opened the door to the shop with a tinkle of charmed bells, she breathed in the scent of ancient vellum and furniture polish.

Hoping that the previous conversation had naturally put itself to an end, she curiously approached a coat rack hung with several rather lovely velvet cloaks, noting the bold-print sign stuck to the adjacent wall which read **DO NOT TRY ON CLOAKS**. Intrigued as to what nefarious enchantment could render the pretty garments so dangerous, Hermione was surprised and a touch displeased when Regulus approached behind her and said,

"At least Lupin is, well, you know… _a bit_ more suitable. Evans…well, I don't know what Severus is playing at. He's going to get himself in trouble one of these days."

Wheeling about, she fixed Regulus with her best intimidating look, and was gratified to see that the boy, usually unflappably calm and even a touch arrogant, looked genuinely cowed by the expression.

"And what is that word supposed to mean, exactly? Everyone likes to bandy it about so much, you'd think there would be more clarity as to its actual meaning. What makes a person 'suitable' or 'unsuitable', Regulus? You seem to have such a handle on it, perhaps you can enlighten me."

Looking quite discomfited, Regulus narrowed his eyes and drew her deeper into the shop, casting a glance at Judith, who, alongside a small group of Gryffindor girls the year above them, seemed quite occupied examining a string of self-adjusting pearls near the front counter.

"You _know_ what it means, Hermione, stop playing games. You're just trying to make me uncomfortable by making me say something…uncouth."

"No, Regulus, I'm trying to make a point. Why does saying the word _mudblood_ make you cringe," She was gratified to see he did just that, "when it's precisely what you're thinking? Are you so uncomfortable because you're worried about offending someone? Well, you're in the presence of two daughters of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, what do you have to fear by talking about blood purity? No, I think it makes you uncomfortable because you know it's wrong, Regulus, and you're just too cowardly to admit it." She hissed, momentarily carried away.

Regulus, too, seemed surprised by the usually poised and dignified girl's uncharacteristically vehement reaction, and he frowned heavily at her.

"You're many things, Hermione, but I never took you for a fool. Surely you know what sort of attention you might draw to yourself, if people hear you talking like that. They'll call you a bloodtraitor. And with Lucius graduated, you don't have the protection you used to; he could keep a handle on Wilkes, Mulciber and that lot. Now that he's gone…well, you ought to be more careful."

"Lucius may be gone, but I'm still a Malfoy. They wouldn't dare. And besides, do you really expect me to be afraid of _Wilkes and Mulciber_? Those dunderheads couldn't light a wand between the two of them." She sniffed, but Regulus continued to watch her warily.

"You shouldn't underestimate them, Hermione. Severus and I have both seen some of the stuff they get up to. Mulciber may be a bit of a dolt, but even dolts can learn some very nasty Dark curses if they know where to look."

"And you shouldn't underestimate me." The witch said, her dark eyes glittering with a deadly seriousness that had Regulus suddenly breaking out in a cold sweat. "I'm not messing about here, Regulus. Haven't you ever found it odd that we were told, our whole lives, that muggleborn witches and wizards had inferior powers, were barely fit for clerical work, and Lily Evans has the best marks in our year by a wide margin? Her charmwork is astonishing; Judith, Severus and I have all seen it in class, and Severus says she's nearly as good at potions as he is. Don't you find that odd, for someone who's barely fit for clerical work?"

Regulus's eyes narrowed, and his mouth moved for several moments before any words came out.

"She has to work at it, though; she's constantly in the library. A pureblood who truly applied themselves the way she does would surely do better."

"She's not in the library any more than I am, Regulus, and she still manages to do better than me on most of our exams."

Of course, Hermione didn't mention that most of her time in the library was spent studying things far from what would be on their exams-theoretical Defense Against the Dark Arts far beyond even what seventh-years would be learning, for example. But if she truly had been an ordinary fourteen-year-old pureblood heiress, and not some bizarre amalgamation of two souls from parallel universes, the point would have stood.

"She must not truly be muggleborn." Regulus said, stubbornly, after several beats of silence. "She must be adopted, or one or both of her parents are squibs."

Hermione rolled her eyes and released a frustrated sigh.

"It's hardly just Evans, Regulus, the history books are studded with muggleborn witches and wizards who have achieved things less talented purebloods could only dream of. They could hardly all be adopted or the children of squibs. I could lend you a few texts with the proper highlighted passages, if you're interested in doing the research yourself."

Regulus sighed, slightly relieved that a more familiar side of Hermione was returning to the forefront. He was highly uncomfortable with this new, passionately militant side of his friend, and was comforted by the seeming constancy of her bookish tendencies.

Hermione had always been opinionated, and far more vocal and argumentative than he knew most ladies of their set were expected to be. He appreciated that she was always game for a debate and seemed nigh impossible to intimidate, but the things she was saying now were downright dangerous. Regulus had to admit that he had already considered many of the things she had pointed out at length, and come to the conclusion that blood purity was perhaps not the decisive factor in a person's character and abilities that his mother had insisted it was his entire life. But that didn't mean he went about handing out pamphlets on muggleborn rights and picking fights with Death Eaters.

Regulus had to snort at the image of his composed and elegant friend handing out pamphlets, of all things, like some wide-eyed, naive activist. Or, even more absurd, duelling with Death Eaters. Shooing away the downright preposterous image of the well-bred girl before him, in her tailored robes and Acromantula silk gloves, handing out social justice pamphlets or fighting the Dark Lord's followers, he fixed a conciliatory smile in place.

"Look, it's the last Hogsmeade of the year. Let's just try to enjoy ourselves. Plenty of time to get into moral debates once we've had a butterbeer. My treat."

Deciding to take the peace offering, Hermione nodded, and she and Regulus emerged from behind the coat rack in time to witness one of the older Gryffindor girls in the store, Florence Lester, Hermione thought her name was, yank a double string of pearls out of Judith's grip. There was an ominous snap, and a shower of milky white gems scattered all over the floor of the shop. Gasping, Florence's friends all shuffled back from the scene of the crime, clearly not eager to be implicated in the destruction of the piece of antique jewelry.

The girl herself, smirking down imperiously at the much shorter Judith, said,

"Well, it looks as though you've broken it, Burke. And what a shame, it was such a pretty necklace. Good thing your daddy could afford to buy you a hundred necklaces just like it with the money he makes off selling illegal Dark goods." Hermione recalled vaguely that Florence's father worked in the DMLE.

"I'm sure he won't mind footing the bill." She continued snidely.

Stepping delicately over the pile of scattered pearls, Florence swept out of the store, her friends trotting hastily in her wake. The raucous cacophony of their laughter could be heard ringing through High Street as the door slammed shut behind them.

"Oh, Judith." Hermione breathed, her heart aching at the sight of tears pooling in her friend's eyes.

Hermione knew that Borgin and Burkes, the shop that Judith's father co-owned and which was their main source of livelihood—as Mr. Burke was the youngest of four sons, and had received very little of Caractacus' inheritance aside from the family business—had fallen on hard times. It had been raided by Aurors twice in the past year, and customers were hesitant to be seen at the store in Knockturn Alley for fear of attracting the unwanted attention of law enforcement.

The necklace had not only been an antique, but also enchanted with self-adjustment charms—if the little placard behind the velvet case it had been resting in were to be believed—and Hermione was well aware of the price tag that came with such a piece. Such a delicate bit of jewelry could not be salvaged with a simple _reparo_ , either; it required more specialized charm work that Hermione doubted could be accomplished by anyone but an antique jeweler.

Judith glanced about frantically, no doubt waiting for the shop owner to descend, and whispered,

"I can't pay, there's no way I can pay for it, it has to be at least a hundred galleons."

The girl was beginning to panic, and Hermione was about to assert that she could easily leave a note of credit to her personal account at Gringotts—one hundred galleons was nothing to sneeze at, but with the yearly allowance she received from her father it was certainly manageable—when Regulus stepped forward and placed his money pouch down upon the countertop with a substantial clink.

"There's a little over a hundred galleons in there," He declared in what was no doubt intended to be a nonchalant manner, "Now let's get out of here before we have to endure a scolding at the hands of an irate antiques dealer."

Fighting a smile at the boy's poor attempt at feigning indifference—and the emotion shining out of Judith's eyes, which was the furthest thing from indifference—Hermione nodded in agreement, and hastily slipped out of the shop onto the street.

"That was very kind of you." She murmured to Regulus, whose blank expression was betrayed by the pink tips of his ears.

She was just about to suggest they head for the Three Broomsticks—it seemed that drinks would be her treat, after all—when the sight of a familiar pair across the street caught Hermione's attention.

Severus, wearing his ill-fitting school robes despite the warmth of the day, was strolling alongside an animated Lily Evans, clad in a pink jumper that clashed horribly with her hair and a pair of tightly-fitted blue trousers that Old Hermione had explained to her were called 'jeans'. The pair was smiling and laughing about something—although in Severus's case it was more like his usually dour expression had relaxed into something approaching a smile—when their progress down the street was halted by the sudden appearance of a group of four boys.

Sensing trouble, Hermione grabbed Regulus's arm and jerked her chin in the direction of Potter, Black, Pettigrew and Remus. Potter had moved to the front of the group, Black, as always, hovering at his elbow.

"Out in the light of day for once, Snivellus? I'm shocked that your skin hasn't broken out in boils at the sight of the sun." Potter was drawling, and Black and Pettigrew both snickered.

Remus, hovering at the peripheries of the budding conflict, looked torn, and Hermione pursed her lips, disappointed in her friend's inaction. Old Hermione's memories informed her that the adult Remus had admitted to having always been like this, hardly the servile sycophant that Pettigrew was, but still not quite confident enough to speak up against his more popular and self-assured friends. It seemed her presence in this timeline and her friendship with Remus had not altered this unfortunate fact.

"You're right James, Snivellus miraculously doesn't have any boils, but that's easily remedied." Sirius chuckled nastily, his hand drifting towards the pocket of his trousers.

Hermione glanced at Regulus, who was regarding his brother with a tight-lipped look. The two had been drifting apart ever since Regulus had started school, with house rivalries and family matters putting a heavy strain on their relationship. It could hardly be pleasant to witness his brother behaving like a common bully.

Before Sirius could move for his wand, Severus had whipped out his own, leveling it on Potter. He and his friends were only a beat behind the Slytherin boy, and four wands were quickly trained upon Severus.

"Just leave us alone, Potter!" Lily cried, stepping in front of Severus and placing a forestalling hand in front of her friend.

Hermione fought the urge to groan. Did she have no sense at all? Didn't she realize that no fourteen-year-old boy—particularly the resentfully proud Severus, who had a chip on his shoulder the size of Hogwarts castle—wanted to be defended by _a girl_ in front of his rivals? Particularly the girl he fancied.

"Why do you always have to be starting trouble and picking on Severus? Just lay off!"

Severus was beet red and shaking with anger and embarrassment, and he pushed Lily aside with the hand that was not holding his wand. He muttered something to her that Hermione couldn't hear from her position across the street.

"Yes, you hear that, Evans? He _wants_ to fight us himself." James proclaimed, running a hand through his hair in a distinctly preening fashion. "Just stand aside and let the wizards handle this."

 _I still can't believe that this is what Harry's father is like._ Old Hermione proclaimed, clearly disgusted.

 _He's a horrid prat._ Hermione agreed with her counterpart. _The only thing that's kept me from arranging for him to have an 'accident' off the ramparts is your assurance that he will grow up to be less of an utter twat._

 _Firstly, you shouldn't curse like that. What if you accidentally let the word 'twat' slip in front of your father?_ Hermione shivered at this image. _And secondly, as tempting as it may be in this moment, you can't kill James. Harry would never be born!_

Hermione returned her attention to the conflict across the street just in time to witness James Potter fire off a distinctly nasty-looking purple hex. Acting on the instinct lent to her by having a former war-hero co-inhabiting her body, Hermione whipped out her wand.

"Protego!" She barked, throwing up a shield in front of Severus just in time for the purple hex to bounce off and narrowly miss Pettigrew, who squealed and ducked to avoid it.

The attention of all four Gryffindor boys, along with Lily and Severus, shifted to the group across the street, and Severus looked, if possible, even more unhappy at the sight of his housemates. Well, Hermione thought waspishly, he would just have to pack up his bloody pride and take it elsewhere. The common sense voice in the back of her head that had been loudly proclaiming how stupid Lily was for not realizing that she would only humiliate Severus further by attempting to help had fallen silent, gagged momentarily by her righteous anger.

Marching across the street, not stopping to see if Regulus or Judith followed, she fixed James Potter with a haughty look.

"I'll thank you not to go throwing spells at my friends, Potter. I know that _some of us_ weren't raised with any manners, but it generally is considered bad form to hex someone in the middle of the street for no reason."

"I have plenty reason." Potter responded casually, his wand still trained on Severus. "He's utterly spoiling my view of High Street, for one."

"Besides, you're one to talk about people's upbringings, Malfoy. James may not have any manners but at least he wasn't raised by one of the slimiest blood purists in Britain." Sirius drawled, and Hermione's eyes turned to him, narrowing at the smug expression on his face.

He looked so much like Regulus, even down to the infuriating smirk, but while Regulus's eyes were always filled with good-natured humor when he smirked at her like that, Sirius's were filled with cruel challenge.

"Do not besmirch my father, Black. I will make you regret it." She said hotly.

But after a long moment, the fury in her eyes cooled and hardened, and a smirk twisted her lip.

"Oh, I see now. I've always wondered why you hated me so, Black, more than you do the rest of the Slytherins. Obviously you're just trotting after Potter like a good dog when it comes to Severus, punishing him for daring to be friends with the girl Potter is so obviously pathetically in love with," Potter spluttered at this, turning bright red and glancing back and forth between Sirius and Hermione rather helplessly, "But there didn't seem to be any reason for you to hate _me_ so much. Fifteen points at the beginning of first year couldn't be the explanation, could it? But now it makes sense. You're _jealous_. Painfully, agonizingly jealous."

Sirius scoffed at this, but there was a shadow of _something_ , the whisper of a vulnerability in the depths of his pale gray eyes, and Hermione saw it and pounced.

"You're all the society matrons would talk about for months, you know, the fallen heir of House Black. Such a disappointment, hated and disparaged by your own family, nothing but a source of shame for your proud parents. And here I am, loved and treasured by my father, cared for and nurtured by my brother. We come from the same world, but that world has done nothing but chew you up and spit you back out, and you hate it for that. And you hate me for it."

She was about to continue with, 'It really all makes sense now', when suddenly the street exploded in spellfire, Black lunging at her with fury in his eyes and a stream of hex incantations on his lips. James, not to be left behind, aimed a barrage of no doubt very nasty spells at Severus, who countered with his own deft spellcasting, and a chaotic all-out duel between the Slytherins and Gryffindors was swiftly underway.

Lily had joined the fray, and Hermione laughed, even as she dodged a jellylegs jinx courtesy of Black, as she witnessed the fiery redhead hit Potter with a jinx that appeared to encourage radishes to begin growing from his nostrils.

Having acted mostly defensively up to this point, Hermione aimed her wand at Sirius and intoned,

" _Avis appugno!"_

A stream of brilliantly yellow canaries shot from the tip of her wand and made a beeline for Black, chirping angrily as their little wings beat frantically against the air. Hopefully no one would question her ability to conjure living creatures, as it was a sixth year spell. In the heat of the moment, Hermione couldn't quite bring herself to care.

"Argh!"

Batting at the air about his head, attempting to stop the little birds who were currently attempting to dismember his face with their tiny, razor-sharp beaks, Black was momentarily distracted, and Hermione turned her attention to Potter, Lily and Severus. Potter was frantically ducking and weaving under the combined onslaught of the two, and Hermione noted with bemused disbelief that he seemed to be refusing to fire a spell at Lily, despite the enormous radish still sprouting out of one nostril and the witch's very apparent lack of hesitation to continue jinxing him.

She paid for her lack of attention to Black, however, who it seemed had found a way to banish her birds and had fired off what appeared to be a full body-bind in her direction. Before she could get her wand up in time—she may not have even been able to—a familiar hand grasped her elbow and yanked her out of the way of the oncoming spell.

"Brother. That's enough."

Regulus's voice, cool and heavy, seemed to cut through the chaos and finally knock some sense into Remus and Pettigrew, who had both been watching their friend duel Snape and Lily, clearly hesitant to intervene (for quite different reasons, Hermione suspected). Interceding at last, Remus stepped in front of his friend, whose wild hair had just been singed by a burning hex, and held up a hand.

"Black is right. We're in the middle of Hogsmeade, we'll all get detention if we're caught duelling."

Lily seemed reluctant to lower her wand away from Potter, but did so at the mention of detention. His chest heaving with fury, Severus stuffed his own wand in his pocket. After a moment of tense silence, he turned on his heel and stormed off down a side alley, his robes flapping behind him in a way that very much invoked Old Hermione's memories of her bat-like adult potions master.

"Severus, wait!"

Lily shot off after him, and Hermione fought the urge to wince at the sight of Potter's expression as the pretty red head disappeared in pursuit of the Slytherin.

"C'mon, mates. Let's just go, before Rosmerta calls a professor on us." He muttered resentfully.

The two Black brothers were still locked in a moment of intensity, their nearly identical clear gray eyes trained on one another and glittering with animosity. For a moment Sirius seemed unable to tear himself away from the staring contest with his little brother, but eventually the spell seemed to break.

"Yeah. Now that Snivellus is gone there's no chance of fun in any case," He said, his voice quite affectedly light.

"Yes, because there's no chance of you being able to pick on someone four-to-one for no good reason at all." Hermione was shocked to hear Judith's soft voice piping up from her left, where she had come up beside Regulus.

Potter shot the girl an annoyed if vague glare, as if trying to remember who she was and why exactly he ought to hate her, but he and Black turned and headed off up the street nonetheless, Pettigrew quickly scrambling to follow.

After a moment, Black glanced quizzically over his shoulder.

"Remus? Are you coming?"

"I'll be along in a bit." Remus responded tiredly, his eyes fixed on Hermione.

She noted that Judith, next to her, was shaking terribly with nerves.

"Why don't we go back to the castle as well? We can take the long way, so we don't run into them on the walk." Regulus said softly, and the small girl nodded in emphatic agreement.

"I'll follow you shortly." Hermione said.

Regulus paused, appearing cautious.

"Are you sure, Hermione? I wouldn't put it past Potter and my brother to sneak up on you once you're alone."

"I won't be alone, I'll be with Remus."

Regulus did not look reassured by this, casting a distasteful look at the boy's red-and-gold tie, but he nonetheless took the trembling Judith by one arm and led her off in the direction of the castle.

There was a long moment of silence and Remus regarded her with exhausted eyes, before he finally broke it with,

"Do you want to get a butterbeer, then?"

Hermione sighed.

"Yes, I suppose we'd better."

The Three Broomsticks was bustling with students giddy with the enjoyment of their last weekend of carefree fun before final exams arrived in full force. It took Remus and Hermione a moment to find a table, but they did eventually, frothing flagons in hand.

As they settled into the small booth in the quietest corner of the pub, Remus said,

"You were really brutal with Sirius back there. He's not going to forget about this easily, I'm not sure I'll be able to…well…" Remus trailed off, taking a troubled sip of his butterbeer.

"Protect me?" Hermione ventured shrewdly, and Remus shrugged embarrassedly.

"I don't really think of it that way. You can protect yourself, Merlin knows—nice move with the birds, by the way, bloody brilliant that you can conjure living beings, you'll have to coach me through that. It's more like…you're my friend and I respectfully request that they leave you be. But now…" He shook his head ruefully. "Sirius was already a bit obsessed with you-constantly insisting you're up to no good, telling me to watch my back whenever he knew I was off to meet you. Now they'll never lay off you."

Hermione tossed her hair over one shoulder.

"Well, naturally, who wouldn't be a bit obsessed with me?"

"Hermione, I'm serious, you've always gotten under his skin for some reason and you really hit a nerve out there just now."

She grew somber, lightly swirling a fingertip through the foam of her drink in a thoughtful fashion.

"Yes, I took it too far; I should never have brought up his family. That was...a miscalculation. I understand the world he comes from, Remus, and it is a very ugly one. He's right to be resentful, and he sees me as an embodiment of all that he is so justified in hating." She sighed, and it was one of those moments in which Remus thought she looked much older than she had any right to.

He was also struck by something she had said-that she understood the world Sirius came from. It was almost exactly what Sirius had said to him, during their very first real argument about his friendship with Hermione. It seemed to him that Hermione and Sirius understood each other in some strange yet uniquely poignant way. They had an odd, twisted connection that, at least from Sirius's end, had manifested itself in hatred. But Remus wondered if that was perhaps because the boy hated in Hermione what he hated about himself-their upbringings, their customs, even the very cultivated way they spoke. He did not seem to see, in himself or in Hermione, the most _important_ characteristics they shared; kindness, loyalty, and a complete disregard for what other people thought of them. It was rather tragic, Remus thought, and it made his heart ache for both of his friends.

He was shaken out of his thoughts by Hermione saying,

"Anyway, they can come at me all they like. I've got more than just a few canaries up my sleeve, Remus."

The boy smiled reluctantly at this, and for a moment they enjoyed their drinks in companionable silence.

"I didn't know you were so close with Sirius's brother." Remus said after a moment.

Hermione shrugged.

"It's a relatively new development. Regulus is popular within Slytherin, he's well-liked and hardly wants for friends. But we've always seemed to end up sticking together at the endless silly teas and balls our families make us attend, and we have quite a bit in common besides just an aversion to smalltalk with Ermentrude Bulstrode."

"That would make him unusual among your friends, then." Remus commented.

"What, that he doesn't enjoy chatting with Ermentrude Bulstrode? Clearly you haven't met the woman, Remus."

She was being deliberately obtuse.

"No, no." Remus clarified, attempting an exasperated sigh even as the corners of his mouth twitched. "That he's popular and well-liked. You seem to have a habit of collecting odd ducks. First me," At this he smiled self-deprecatingly, "then that Burke girl, I always noticed the way the other Slytherin girls treated her. And then Severus. You've got quite the set of misunderstood misfits by now."

She gave him a mock-severe look.

"It's hardly deliberate, Remus. I just happen to not much care what other people think of me or the people I choose to associate with. One of the luxuries afforded to me by being a Malfoy." She finished with a sardonic smirk.

Observing her over the rim of his tankard, Remus bitterly wondered what she would say if she knew exactly how much of a misfit he truly was.


	6. Wedding Bells

Chapter Six

Wedding Bells

June, 1975

Lucius and Narcissa's wedding was to be the event of the season, and members of wizarding society had been pompously sizing one another up for months based upon who had received an invitation. Hermione had, much to her discomfort, even heard some of her classmates discussing who had been invited, back when school had still been in session.

Dahlia Parkinson had been, of course, the loudest to proclaim to the whole Slytherin table that her parents had received their invitation as soon as the first ones had been sent out around Yule. The Parkinsons had quickly recovered from their brief stint in exile from high society, instating one of the more distant male cousins as heir apparent and quickly sweeping the matter of their former heir and his muggleborn wife under the Persian rug. Dahlia, no longer made insecure by her family's shame, had become more insufferable than ever, and Hermione made it quite the point to avoid the girl whenever possible, despite her many transparently insincere attempts to ingratiate herself with the Malfoy heiress.

On the last day of term, Hermione had been quietly enjoying a light breakfast in the mostly-empty Great Hall, when she had been unpleasantly surprised to see Dahlia seat herself on the bench across from her, the ever-present Claudia conspicuously absent.

"Good morning, Dahlia." She had said cordially, before pointedly returning to her book, which was a bit of light reading on the application of Egyptian hieroglyphics in rune-based curse breaking.

"Good morning, Hermione!" The girl had chirped, helping herself to the platter of breakfast pastries in between them and rapidly launching into a chattering monologue regarding this season's formal robes.

After several minutes of this, Hermione having set her book down in defeat, realizing that it would be quite impossible to continue reading whilst still maintaining even a veneer of politeness, Dahlia had said,

"And I was thinking I would have Mummy pre-order me one of the lilac gowns from the collection, especially for your brother's wedding. Do you think that would be appropriate, or is lilac too overdone for a June wedding?"

Blinking owlishly, Hermione was lost for words for a moment, not having anticipated being expected to contribute an opinion. After a moment she coughed lightly and responded,

"I don't think it's overdone at all. Purple is a lovely color on you, in any case."

Dahlia had smiled smugly in response to the hesitantly-offered compliment, and seemed to take it as an indication that Hermione had finally acknowledged all of her unctuous advances over the years, and they were friends at last.

Or at least that's what Hermione assumed the girl thought, as a month later Dahlia Parkinson, indeed resplendent in ruffled lilac silk, came at her squealing with delight at the pre-ceremonial reception.

"Hermione! How lovely to see you, I've been looking forward to it all summer! Claudia and I were just saying the other day at tea how dull things are without you around." She released a tinkling laugh, and Hermione fought the reflexive urge to gag as Dahlia leaned over to peck her on the cheek and the cloyingly sweet scent of the girl's perfume washed over her.

Dahlia had to be well aware of Hermione's dislike for her; Judith was one of her best friends, after all, and the rift between the Burke girl and her former friends, which had opened up in earnest the middle of first year, was well known.

But it quickly became apparent who she was putting on a show for; Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson were hanging back from Dahlia slightly, pleased smiles in place as they watched their daughter interact with the Malfoy heiress. No doubt they were glad to see her so 'close' to the daughter of the powerful and influential Abraxas—perhaps they had even instructed her to ingratiate herself with the girl, which would explain Dahlia's unending oily attempts at flattery despite the obvious dislike she had demonstrated for Hermione at the beginning of their first year. A strategic blunder on her part, no doubt, and one that she had likely been scolded for by the aforementioned parents.

Fixing a distinctly chilly smile in place, Hermione drew back from Dahlia.

"Lovely to see you as well, Miss Parkinson. Perhaps I might join you and Miss Rosier for tea at some point this summer, I do always enjoy getting to know my housemates better. Mr. Parkinson, Mrs. Parkinson, good to see you." Dipping a small curtsy in their direction and stifling a self-satisfied smirk at the outraged glint in Dahlia's eye, she said, "I'm terribly sorry to excuse myself so quickly, but I have so many family members I must greet, you understand how it is at these events. I do hope you all enjoy yourselves at the ceremony, and perhaps we can speak more at length at the post reception."

With that, she swept away from the Parkinsons, concealing a smug expression. It was not at all out of line for her to refer to Dahlia by last name outside of the more informal setting of Hogwarts; they were not, after all, close friends, and she had quickly dispelled this illusion that Dahlia was attempting to craft for her parents by calling her Parkinson and implying that she was merely casually acquainted with the girl and her crony. Hopefully that was dissuade her from further attempts at currying Hermione's favor, which were growing quite tiresome.

After mingling diligently with the vast assembly of extended Malfoy relatives, many of whom had come all the way from France and Hermione had only met on occasion (or not at all, in several cases) the chiming of bells echoed through the grand ballroom, indicating that guests should begin to make their way to their seats out in the gardens.

It was also Hermione's queue to head up to the bridal chamber, which was her mother's old dressing room on the second floor, repurposed for the occasion. The spacious chamber, decorated tastefully in cream and pale pink silk, was filled with bustling and chirping young women.

Narcissa, seated at the vanity at the center of the room, was being fussed over by a bubbly Druella Black, while a bored-looking Bellatrix (now Lestrange, as she and Rodolphus had been married two years previously) looked on. A pretty brunette who Hermione vaguely recognized as Narcissa's friend from school, Emma Vanity, was running her wand up and down the resplendent cream and gold brocaded wedding gown in the corner, clearly steaming it out. Several more of Narcissa's female friends were clustered about, and Hermione nodded to them as she vaguely recognized an Avery, a Bulstrode, and a Zabini.

The younger witches were all clad in gowns of pale green identical to the one Hermione was currently wearing, and she self-consciously smoothed down the skirts of her dress, knowing the color did very little for her complexion.

Returning her attention to Narcissa, she clasped the small velvet box in her hands more securely and glided across the room, smiling as Druella looked up upon her approach. Deliberately keeping her eyes averted from Bellatrix, she exclaimed,

"You look stunning, Narcissa."

It was said with total sincerity, for the witch truly did. Her luminous hair had been gathered into an elaborate updo which did justice to her long and graceful neck, and her skin and eyes glowed under the influence of several tastefully subtle cosmetic charms. She blushed prettily at the comment, turning away from the mirror to smile nervously up at her future sister-in-law.

"Thank you, Hermione, that's so kind of you to say. But I fear I'm a nervous wreck, I'll be sweating through these cosmetics charms before I can even reach the gardens." Her voice was light and humorous, but it was clear there was an undercurrent of truth to them, as Hermione noted her overly bright eyes and the way she fidgeted with the silk dressing gown she was currently clad in.

"You shouldn't be. My brother is a good man, and he cares for you deeply. You'll be very good to each other, I think."

Narcissa seemed soothed by the words, and a flicker of gratitude shone in her pale blue eyes.

"I have something for you, by the way. Father and I discussed it, and we decided that you should have my mother's bridal necklace."

Withdrawing the velvet box, she flipped it open for the Black women to see, revealing the exquisitely glittering strand of diamonds and sapphires within. There were gasps from Druella and Narcissa, and even Bellatrix looked taken aback, craning her neck to get a better view of the goblin-wrought platinum.

"I could never accept," Narcissa breathed, glancing back and forth between Hermione's face and the necklace. "It is your birthright, your mother would want you to have it."

"Yes, Hermione dear, this is far too much. You and your father are so kind to offer, but…" Druella trailed off, seemingly transfixed by the beckoning glisten of the necklace's sapphire centerpiece, which was the size and shape of a robin's egg.

Hermione smiled, shaking her head.

"Believe me, my mother had plenty of jewels; my birthright will hardly be depleted in any respect by this one gift. And besides, my mother was Lysithea Selwyn, who you may recall was the daughter of Ventidius Selwyn and Lysandra Yaxley. Lysandra's mother, from whom the necklace was passed down to _my_ mother, was of course Elladora Black. So really, you have a claim to it by virtue of your relation to Elladora; it's all very proper. And we insist."

Ignoring Old Hermione's sigh of exasperation at this flood of absurdly convoluted genealogy, Hermione looked at the Blacks expectantly. Narcissa glanced uncertainly up at her mother, whose eyes were still fixed upon the sapphire centerpiece. After a moment, Druella nodded hesitantly.

"If you and your father are certain, well, we mustn't be churlish and refuse your generosity. Thank you."

"Yes, thank you," Narcissa said sincerely, smiling softly as her mother gently lifted the necklace from its case and looped it about her neck, fastening the clasp with a muted click.

"I don't remember my mother much, I was so young when she passed. But Lucius and my father have always said that she was a kind and thoughtful woman, I'm sure she would want you to have it as a proper welcome into our family." Hermione said warmly.

Abraxas had stiffly asked his daughter to present the gift to Narcissa with something along these lines, and Hermione had to stifle a snort of amusement at the thought of her father attempting to emotionally welcome his daughter-in-law to the family. It was a good thing he had her to leave such things to.

A muted chime of bells, this one slightly more demanding, sounded through the dressing room, and there was a squealing flurry of activity as all the witches rushed to the various mirrors throughout the room to put the finishing touches on their appearances.

With a twirl of her wand, Druella summoned the glorious wedding gown, and with the help of her mother and sister (who still appeared bored with the proceedings) Narcissa was quickly into the gown, which fit her perfectly and completed a picture of almost unbearable beauty.

"Alright ladies," Druella sang out, "The apparition point is just outside of the rose garden! We'd best be getting on with it."

Taking her daughter's arm, Druella turned on the spot and they both disappeared with a muted pop. Around them were a series of pops and cracks as the other witches apparated down to the gardens. The anti-apparition wards that usually protected the Manor had been lifted for the day, to make it easier for guests and members of the wedding party to swiftly navigate the estate's expansive grounds. That hardly did Hermione much good, however, as she was two years away from an Apparition license.

She was just wondering if she ought to take the servants' corridors down to the kitchen door, as that seemed like it might be fastest, when she was confronted with the sight of Bellatrix Lestrange offering her an arm, an expectant look on her sharply beautiful face.

"Well? Do you want me to side-along you or not? You're welcome to walk, if you'd prefer." Bellatrix drawled, looking as if she didn't particularly care one way or the other.

Ignoring Old Hermione's vehement advisement _not,_ under any circumstances, to take the woman's outstretched arm, Hermione nodded and reached out to link elbows with the older witch. Bile rose in her throat as Bellatrix's cool, surprisingly soft skin made contact with her own, and she was grateful when the woman immediately pivoted to the right and sucked them into the tight, squeezing dimension of apparation. That way, she didn't have to make an effort to conceal how deathly pale she had grown.

As soon as the heels of her shoes touched the grassy earth beside the rose garden, Hermione extracted her arm from Bellatrix's, and took a small step away from the woman for good measure. Luckily, she seemed not to notice her young companion's discomfort, instead seemingly absorbed by picking a bit of dirt from underneath one of her fingernails.

The ceremony, which commenced shortly thereafter, was long and very traditional, with Lucius and Narcissa standing at arm's length from one another as the officiator waxed lyrical about honor, duty, and the preservation of the magical bloodline. Hermione was unsurprised to catch more than a few yawns deftly hidden behind fluttering fans from her position several feet to Narcissa's left, behind Bellatrix and Emma Vanity.

As her bored eyes swept the massive crowd of prominent witches and wizards gathered in the Malfoys' gardens, they settled upon a rather ostentatious augury-feather hairpiece in the second row, which was mostly occupied by Narcissa's extended family. Her gaze naturally moved from the hairpiece to its owner, and she was somewhat surprised to see the pinched visage of Walburga Black. Next to her sat her husband, looking as arrogantly disinterested as always, and on his other side was a handsome young man that Hermione at first mistook for Regulus. But after a double-take, she struggled to conceal her surprise—it wouldn't do to look anything but sentimentally misty-eyed on behalf of her brother's nuptials, in front of these hundreds of people—when she identified him as Sirius. The dark hair curling over the collar of his stiff dress robes was far too long, and his posture far too slouched; she had no idea how she had even mistaken him for his younger brother in the first place.

As she watched, Walburga leaned over her husband and prodded her son in the shoulder with her long, elegant wand. The boy looked incensed, but nonetheless straightened up in his seat, shooting his mother a positively mutinous look.

Hermione's feet were numb all the way to her ankles by the time the officiator tapped his wand over Lucius and Narcissa's clasped hands and a ribbon of platinum energy shot out, encircling the two of them and issuing a burst of glimmering light that left Hermione's vision swimming.

"I now pronounce you wizard and wife, may magic ever bind you!"

There was a roar of very polite applause, and a beaming Lucius and Narcissa (well, in Lucius's case it was really more of a pleased smirk) turned and raised their clasped hands, still glowing with silvery light, to the crowd.

"Finally." Bellatrix muttered, and Hermione found herself in full agreement with the unhinged woman.

 _I'd rather not go on living, now that the day has come that we've agreed with Bellatrix Lestrange._

Ignoring this remark, Hermione smiled politely at the crowd.

* * *

Abraxas, at Hermione's suggestion, had elected to hold the post-reception outside in the gardens. Ordinarily it would have been in the grand ballroom, but Hermione had been inspired by her counterpart's nostalgic memories of Bill and Fleur Weasley's wedding, and insisted it would be much more suitable to have it outside as evening fell.

The smell of summer twilight—an earthy, rich, flowery odor that seemed to creep up from the ground and into the balmy air—permeated everything, and the glimmer of fire fairies winked through the hedges as the little creatures flitted to and fro amongst the flowers.

Hermione, perched on the rim of a marble fountain apart from the center of the activity—which was an elegant dance floor that had been conjured by her father and uncle that afternoon adjacent to the hedge maze—observed the swirl of dress robe skirts and the distant tinkles of well-bred laughter.

Reaching down to dip two fingers into the chilly water flowing beneath her, she wondered if Lucius had taken the mark yet. She had made delicate and subtle inquiries in letters exchanged between the two siblings in the years since Lucius's graduation, but he always feigned obtuseness and ignored the veiled questions. She couldn't even consider bringing the matter up with her father, as he was not supposed to know that she was even aware of her family's tenuous political position, much less so involved in it, and would be furious with both her and her brother if he were to find out.

Pushing away from the rim of the fountain, Hermione reluctantly returned to the epicenter of activity, knowing that she couldn't avoid her social obligations forever. It would be most unseemly for the sister of the groom not to be witnessed in attendance at his wedding reception, after all.

Nodding polite hellos to acquaintances and relatives, Hermione picked her way through the fluttering crowd in search of a refreshments table. She didn't much feel like dancing—the numbness in her feet had turned to insistent daggers of pain shooting up from her arches into her ankles—and having a drink in hand would at least give the impression that she was engaged in the festivities.

The Burkes had not been able to attend, as they were visiting relatives in Eastern Europe for the entire summer season, and Hermione regretted Judith's absence. Conversing with the people her own age who she had caught glimpses of thus far had no appeal. Even as this thought crossed her mind, Hermione ducked behind a particularly tall red-haired witch to avoid the notice of Dahlia, who was over by a voluminous rose bush conversing with an unpleasant girl two years below them who Hermione thought might be a Carrow.

Finally making her way to one of the many refreshments tables scattered throughout the garden, Hermione was about to breath a sigh of relief when she caught sight of a familiar figure bent over the punch bowl, staring at the chilled beverage with narrowed eyes.

Cocking an eyebrow, Hermione observed as Sirius cautiously picked up the serving ladle and dipped it into the punch, issuing a frustrated growl when the light pink liquid seemed to slip right through the cut-crystal ladle, leaving it empty and bone dry.

"There's an age charm on it." Hermione said, amused. "No one under seventeen will have any luck serving themselves with that."

Turning his eyes on her, his back stiff and his chin cocked at an arrogant angle, Sirius nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

"Malfoy."

Hermione couldn't suppress a distinctly chilly smile. He might try to reject his pureblood upbringing until he was blue in the face, but his posture and enunciation spoke (loudly) of money and breeding. Especially in the severely formal dress robes he was currently wearing, he looked a proper pureblood heir. And quite a good-looking one, at that, she couldn't help but notice. While Regulus had retained some of the prettiness both of them had had as boys, his features still delicate despite the onset of puberty, Sirius was rougher around the edges, growing into a strong jawline and allowing his hair to get long and shaggy.

She also knew she hadn't been the only one to notice; Sirius had been popular with the girls at school since their third year, and for some reason the thought of the countless handfuls of young witches who threw themselves at him with some regularity (and usually with success) made her feel irritated.

Pushing these thoughts to a corner of her mind, where Old Hermione smirked knowingly at them, she reached out for the second ladle leaning against the non-alcoholic punch bowl, and dipped it into the beverage that contained what she knew was a considerable amount of elfish brandy. Deftly filling one of the cups piled next to the bowl, she offered it to Sirius.

"Only the one ladle is charmed, bit of an oversight in my opinion, but I wasn't about to point it out."

Sirius reluctantly took the cup of punch, eying it suspiciously even as Hermione fetched herself a glass.

"Don't worry, it isn't poisoned." She said dryly. "It would be terribly inconsiderate of me to spoil my brother's special day by murdering someone at his wedding reception."

"Wouldn't put it past you." Sirius muttered, though he did finally take a cautious sip of his drink.

"Probably wise."

She was surprised he was able to manage even the poor semblance of politeness he was currently displaying; she had expected him to react to her approach with far more hostility, given that their most recent prolonged interaction had been a heated duel in the streets of Hogsmeade. Seeming to read her thoughts, the Black heir fixed her with a gimlet eye and said,

"I still have peck-marks on my neck, you know."

He pulled aside the stiff collar of his robes, and Hermione noted that he did indeed have several small, yellowing bruises dotting the side of his neck.

"Yes, for such seemingly delicate creatures the birds are surprisingly fierce, aren't they?" She said fondly, and he snorted, clearly not sharing her affectionate sentiment for the little animals.

"Are you trying to draw a parallel here between yourself and the birds?" He inquired archly, and she smiled.

"It hadn't occurred to me, but I suppose it's fitting."

They fell into slightly uncomfortable silence then, and Hermione finally broke it when she said,

"Regulus isn't here, is he? I didn't see him sitting with your family at the ceremony."

"The git weaseled out of it, apparently he's 'ill', so my mum insisted I come instead. I think it's a load of rubbish, he didn't look ill to me. At least not any more than the pale little ponce usually does." Sirius muttered.

"A shame. It would have been nice to have some civilized company." Ignoring the rude look he gave her, she continued, "But at least I won't have to avoid your mother's persistent attempts to bring up marriage prospects."

"Noticed that, have you?"

"She's not making much of an effort to be subtle about it."

That uncomfortable silence fell once again. No doubt Sirius was making an effort to be civil for the sake of avoiding a confrontation with his mother—who Hermione was sure would be furious if her son were to offend the daughter of their powerful host—but it was clear he had little interest in conversing with her. It was a sentiment she rather shared, and the girl was about to contrive some convenient excuse to leave, when she was surprised by the boy breaking the unpleasant silence.

"Care for a smoke?"

He had drawn a packet of what she recognized as 'cigarettes' from his trouser pocket, and was holding it between two fingers with a distinctly challenging gleam in his eyes. It reminded her strongly of that look Regulus always got before he made a deliberately inflammatory comment; he was testing her, she was sure of it.

Lighting the things called 'cigarettes' or 'fags' on fire and inhaling the smoke they produced was apparently a widespread muggle custom-one that Old Hermione had explained to her with clear distaste-and while Hermione had always thought it was a bit mad, she had been curious as to why it was so popular with the muggles. And it wasn't as though she was about to let Black intimidate her. Honestly, he was behaving as manipulatively as his brother; perhaps he should have been in Slytherin. Snickering internally at the thought of the face he would make if she were to say this aloud to him, she nodded.

"Yes, that sounds lovely. Shall we head off a bit? Wouldn't want to scandalize Mrs. Bulstrode into a heart attack."

Surprise flitted across dove gray eyes, before they grew inscrutable once more.

"Speak for yourself." He murmured, and she snorted slightly.

Suddenly she felt the unexpected presence of his hand at the small of her back, as he guided her off in the direction of the fountain she had been loitering by earlier. As they moved away from the center of the party, Hermione felt a twinge of unease at how this must look, two young people quietly slipping away from the festivities into a darkened garden. Sure enough, as she glanced over her shoulder at the dance floor, she managed to catch the eye of her brother-who was dancing with an elderly cousin on their mother's side-and he raised an eyebrow. He had nearly gotten it to look as intimidating as when their father did it, she thought.

She issued a subtle nod of reassurance in his direction, and his expression grew somewhat more relaxed, although she felt the weight of his eyes upon her retreating back as she and Sirius slipped into the shadows by the entrance to the vast hedge maze.

Opening the packet and sliding out a small, paper cylinder, Black wedged it lightly between his lips and shoved the box back into his pocket.

"I know you're used to the best of everything, Lady Malfoy, but I'm afraid you'll have to share. Pete could only get me the one pack, and I've got to make it last all summer."

"Perhaps if you hadn't spent your etiquette lessons setting fire to your tutor's trousers, you'd know that 'Lady Malfoy' would be my mother's title, and is hardly appropriate for me." She replied primly, as he withdrew his wand and lit the little stick on fire with a muttered incantation.

He seemed unconcerned about the Trace, but she supposed it made sense considering the huge crowd of witches and wizards surrounding them; the Ministry would hardly be able to tell that the source of a singular sparking charm had been from an Underaged wizard, amongst the hundreds of magical folk present in the Malfoys' gardens that evening.

Even as the cigarette flared to light between his lips, casting his face in a flood of warmth, she could see his surprise at her remark.

"So Reg told you about that, then?"

"Yes. I believe in response to an _unconfirmed_ rumor that I may have _accidentally_ set fire to Dahlia Parkinson's robes during breakfast after she called Judith a slag."

Old Hermione had known a thing or two about setting people's robes alight, and she had not hesitated to capitalize on her counterpart's experiences.

Sirius gave her an assessing look, removing the cigarette from his lips and exhaling a cloud of smoke that was at once acrid and strangely enticing. It made Hermione's nostrils sting and tingle, and she regarded the little stick apprehensively as he proffered it to her.

"Well, is she? A slag, that is?" He said casually, and Hermione shot him a forbidding look.

" _Judith Burke_? What a joke. And as if you wouldn't already be much _better acquainted_ with her if she were-that seems to be your type."

Placing the cigarette between her lips, and inhaling deeply as she had seen Sirius do, Hermione was suddenly taken by a coughing fit as the harsh smoke filled her lungs. Bringing a hand to her chest, she ungracefully shoved the cigarette back in his direction, ignoring his chuckles as she continued to cough.

"Alright there, princess? Think you'll pull through?"

She shot him a withering look, wiping at her streaming eyes.

"That's ghastly!" She exclaimed, having regained the use of her lungs. "I don't understand why muggles like those miserable things so much."

Sirius, who was puffing on the cigarette once more, seemingly unaffected by the smoke's murderous nature, raised an eyebrow.

"And what do you know about muggles, Princess Malfoy?"

It seemed he had latched onto her earlier remark about improper addresses and titles and had decided to refer to her by this demeaning moniker. The question was clearly scathing, colored with a broad stroke of sarcasm, but there was also some underlying genuine curiosity.

"I'm not the sheltered 'princess' you seem to imagine, Black. I find it unlikely that the way princesses are taught to comport themselves includes sending flocks of murderous canaries after people. Malfoys, not so." She replied, and he smirked slightly in response, that assessing look having returned to his depthless eyes.

He seemed about to respond, when Hermione's own eyes narrowed and she placed a forestalling hand on his arm. Several feet away, on the other side of the hedge, a troubling sight had caught her attention.

Right in front of the entrance to the maze, the tall figure of Bellatrix Lestrange loomed over one of the diminutive house-elves who had been weaving through the party-goers with trays of elven wine. She appeared to be scolding the creature for something, and as Hermione watched, the witch grabbed the elf by one of its long, flappy ears and dragged it into the hedge maze, the tray of wine glasses it had been holding falling to the grass.

Not even stopping to think (quite uncharacteristically), Hermione took off after the woman, barely noticing that Sirius, who had witnessed the proceedings as well, followed. As she approached the maze entrance, Old Hermione said,

 _Be very careful. Bellatrix is incredibly dangerous._

Hermione felt that familiar phantom pain of the Cruciatus curse ripple through her body, but she was undeterred.

 _She wouldn't dare harm me, not on my own estate and with so many people nearby. Besides, I can't just let her push the elves about, the poor creature very likely did nothing wrong, and they're not_ her _elves to do with what she likes._

 _Don't make the mistake of underestimating her. She's not one to consider consequences; the woman is insane._

An image of an older, more disheveled Bellatrix flashed before her eyes, the woman's mouth open in a manic laugh which revealed rotting teeth, her eyes bright with deranged cruelty. Resisting her counterpart's attempts to frighten her into caution, Hermione followed the obvious path Bellatrix had left, the tall heels of her shoes having imprinted clear marks into the grass.

 _I told you we should have been in Gryffindor,_ Old Hermione remarked ruefully.

As she headed deeper into the maze, Sirius closely on her heels, it began to grow darker and quieter as they drew away from the light and laughter of the wedding celebrations.

"Where is that crazy bint going?" Sirius muttered, and Hermione shook her head, taking a sharp left in pursuit of Bellatrix's footsteps.

"Probably somewhere she can torment the poor creature for whatever perceived slight it's offered her without drawing unwanted attention."

"You're correct that we won't be drawing any unwanted attention, Miss Malfoy."

Whipping her wand from the bodice of her gown, Hermione turned on her heel to train it upon the source of the voice, which was Rodolphus Lestrange, approaching from behind them flanked by Antonin Dolohov and a hulking blond that Old Hermione recognized as a Death Eater but could not name.

A brief glance over her shoulder revealed Bellatrix emerging from a nearby hedge, the house elf—that Hermione now recognized as Phyllo, the pastry cook—still cruelly held by his ear. Sirius had his wand out by now, and was pointing it at his cousin, who was smirking and looking very unimpressed by the sight.

Struck by inspiration from Old Hermione's memories of the Tri-Wizard Tournament her fourth year, Hermione trained her wand upwards and, with a muttered incantation, sent a spray of red sparks shooting into the sky above the maze, hoping one of the party-goers would notice the disturbance. But before her distress signal could clear the tall hedges, Bellatrix had barked, "Rodolphus!", and her husband had hastily vanished the sparks.

His smug look now diminished somewhat, Lestrange took a step closer, and Hermione returned her wand to its position pointing directly between his eyes.

"What is the meaning of this?" She demanded imperiously. "When my father hears of this…"

"Ah, but that is precisely what we want." Lestrange purred, his eyes glimmering in the near-darkness. "Your father, you see, has been rather uncooperative regarding some requests we have made of him, and unfortunately that means we must take matters into our own hands. I'm certain he will be more receptive when he hears we have...an understanding...with his daughter. We would truly hate for any harm to come to you, Miss Malfoy; I would implore you to be more cooperative with us than your father has been. Dolohov?"

" _Expelliarmus._ "

Hermione allowed herself to be disarmed, realizing the futility of the situation. She and Sirius were both accomplished duelists for their age, and she in particular had quite the edge by virtue of Old Hermione's knowledge of strategy and martial magic, but they were outnumbered two to four by vicious and highly-skilled Dark wizards.

From Sirius's outraged shout a moment later, she assumed that Bellatrix had nonverbally relieved the boy of his wand as well.

"Don't struggle. We can't take all of them, you'll just make things worse." She hissed over her shoulder.

He didn't respond, but made no effort to physically attack his cousin and reclaim his wand, so she assumed he had heard her and was making an effort to comply with her advice.

"What about the boy?" Dolohov was grunting to Lestrange. "He was never part of the plan."

"We'll take him as well. We can't have him running off and prematurely raising the alarm." Lestrange responded.

With that, Dolohov moved forward to grasp her arm, and Hermione fought the instinct to claw at his hand with her fingernails, even as she felt herself being pulled into the sucking tunnel of side-along apparation. She realized, with a sinking feeling, that the Death Eaters must have been planning this for quite some time; they must have known that the Manor's anti-apparition wards would be lifted for the wedding, and that with Hermione home from school, this would be one of the few occasions on which they could easily get to her.

When her feet touched the ground again, Hermione barely had time to take in her surroundings—a marshy bog, gilded silver with the light of a gibbous moon, and in the near distance, what looked like a small castle looming above the swampland—before her eyes were covered by a blindfold.

"We must take certain precautions, I'm sure you understand, Miss Malfoy." Lestrange was saying by her left ear, and Hermione grimaced as an unpleasant shiver ran down her spine.

Little did he know, however, that the brief glimpse she had caught of the castle above the marsh had been enough for her to guess that they had been taken to Daingneach Neònach, one of the Lestrange properties on the Island of Jura, off the coast of Scotland. Old Hermione had known it to be a Death Eater stronghold during the second war, and Hermione had heard it mentioned in passing by people who were discussing the Lestranges' various properties.

There was a strangled shout from her left, and the sound of a scuffle accompanied by a distinctly feminine yelp of pain, before Hermione registered a red flash of light through the fabric of her blindfold, and there was a solid thud.

"Brat!" She heard Bellatrix spit. "We can't just leave him out here, I suppose?" She sounded hopeful.

"No, Bella, you know as well as I do that your uncle would be highly displeased if any harm came to his heir. We don't need an irate Orion Black breathing down our necks." Lestrange responded in clipped tones.

She assumed that one of the Death Eaters was levitating Sirius's unconscious body—or perhaps the hulking blond was carrying him—as they began their very damp and slippery ascent up towards the castle.

She tripped and fell three times, Lestrange hauling her back to her feet each time. The skirts of the rather hideous pale green gown would be ruined, although that was hardly worthy of concern at this very moment.

The sound of a gate being drawn up reached her hyper-aware ears, and a rush of cool, dank air fell over her as she was led into what she assumed to be some sort of antechamber. Hushed voices, one of which she was fairly certain belonged to Bellatrix, conversed to her left for a moment, before the woman said,

"Take them to one of the bedrooms on the third floor, Dolohov, and guard the door."

There was a grunt of acknowledgement, and Dolohov's iron grip encircled her upper arm once more. She was led up three flights of stairs and down a hallway, gooseflesh erupting along her arms at the drafty air that seemed to permeate the castle. There was the sound of a door creaking open, and suddenly the blindfold was yanked from her eyes, taking a few strands of hair with it.

A scowling Dolohov levitated Sirius's unconscious body onto the floor, where it fell from a foot or two up with a sizable thud. Hermione fixed the man with an icy glare, as there was a voluminous four-poster bed just a few feet away from where the Death Eater had deposited Sirius. It would have been simple enough for him to levitate the boy just a bit farther, but he had deliberately chosen to leave him on the cold flagstones. Ignoring the look, Dolohov rumbled,

"Keep quiet and don't make any trouble."

With that, he shut the door behind him, and Hermione heard the snap of a locking charm. Taking in her surroundings, Hermione noted that the chamber was furnished rather spartanly and in a very old-fashioned style. Carved snakeheads with fangs bared topped the bedposts, and a set of heavy velvet curtains that looked as though they hadn't been dusted since perhaps the 17th century covered the windows. It reminded her very much of Old Hermione's memories of the decades-abandoned Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

After a moment, Hermione sighed and sat down on the bed, which groaned in protest and issued a puff of acrid dust from its heavy brocade comforter. She would have woken Sirius, had she had her wand, but as it was she knew that only a _rennervate_ would revive someone who had been stunned before the spell wore off.

Noticing an elaborately carved bookshelf across the room, Hermione rose from the dusty comforter and drew one of the books from the shelf, a delightful number entitled _Olde and Powerful Curses for the Torture of the Muggle_ and proceeded to do the one thing that had always succeeded in keeping her calm and level-headed, in this life and her other: read.


	7. Web Spinning

Chapter Seven

Web Spinning

June, 1975

Hermione wasn't sure how much time passed—it was difficult to tell, what with the heavy velvet curtains drawn tightly over the windows—but she was just starting to nod off over the archaic book of curses she had been reading, when Sirius began to stir.

Instantly alert, she tossed the odious tome onto the bedspread and moved to kneel by his side, even as he loudly groaned.

"Black?" She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, and issued an outraged yelp as she suddenly found herself flipped over and pinned to the ice cold flagstones, the Black heir kneeling over her with an expression that was a strange combination of fierce and befuddled.

There was a long moment, as he held her down to the flagstones with an iron grip that she was hyper-aware of against the bare skin of her arms, that he looked at her blankly, the confusion of having just woken from his magically-induced stupor seeming to keep him from recognizing her. Gooseflesh erupted along her arms, and she managed to convince herself that it was just because of the cold stone pressed against her back, and not the warm, calloused hands encircling her upper arms or the gray eyes, burning with intensity, boring into her own.

"It's me, Black! Let go of me before I set the canaries on you." She managed to keep her voice even and free from any traitorous tremors, and recognition at last bloomed in his eyes.

He immediately released her from his grip, and she shivered at the sudden absence of the warmth from his palms.

"What the hell happened?" He growled, rubbing the back of his skull and glancing about the room in obvious alarmed confusion. "I feel like I've been trampled by a herd of hippogryphs."

"Probably the aftereffects of your lovely cousin's stunner. What did you do to make her knock you out?"

She got to her feet, straightening the muddy, grass-stained skirts of her robes. Sirius followed her lead, swaying slightly as he rose, and gave her a look that clearly said he could manage himself when she raised her hands as if to steady him.

"Don't quite remember. I think I elbowed her in the face when she tried to blindfold me. She didn't like that."

"No, I'd imagine she wouldn't." Hermione replied archly, sitting back down on the dusty comforter as Sirius paced about the room, taking stock of their surroundings.

"I've already checked the whole chamber; there's no way of getting in or out aside from the door, which is locked—with Dolohov on the other side."

Sirius grunted in acknowledgement, but continued his exploration of the room, glancing behind the curtains at the window and trying the latch, poking about the door, and even taking a look underneath the bed. Hermione rolled her eyes. Men. They never could just take someone's word for it, always had to be 'checking things out' for themselves.

Releasing a frustrated sigh, he flopped down on the comforter on the opposite side of the bed, his back facing her. Coughing at the cloud of dust the ancient blanket released, Hermione shot him an annoyed glance.

"What the hell do they even want?" He muttered, either not noticing or ignoring her irritation.

"Just what Lestrange said; my father's cooperation. The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters have been courting my father and brother for years. Don't you remember that conversation we overheard that one night, the summer before first year?"

It was the first time Hermione had brought up their meeting in the kitchens of Malfoy Manor, and she heard Sirius shift against the coverlet in what she guessed was discomfort. He had seemed very invested, after all, in pretending as though they had never been something approaching friends prior to starting school.

"I assumed your father had thrown his weight behind Voldemort years ago; everyone thinks so, you know, even the Aurors."

Hermione sniffed. She didn't flinch at his use of Voldemort's name; calling him the Dark Lord or You-Know-Who had largely become force of habit, bred from a desire not to offend or make uncomfortable the people she interacted with. Hearing his name spoken so brazenly (the way it had been in her counterpart's memories by Old Hermione and her allies) sent a thrill of excitement up her spine.

"This may come as a shock to your Gryffindor idealism, but 'everyone', generally speaking, is rather stupid and ill-informed. And those lackwits at the DMLE are hardly any better."

"Mr. Potter is an Auror for the DMLE." Sirius said, an undercurrent of warning running through his tone.

Cocking her head over her shoulder, she grimaced at him.

"Well if he's anything like his son then 'lackwit' would hardly be an inaccurate description."

"Mr. Potter is a great man." Sirius growled, a cold fire kindling in the depths of his dove gray eyes.

 _Careful. From what I know of my Sirius, the Potters practically raised him; he's as defensive of them as anyone would be of loving parents._

"I apologize, I shouldn't have insulted him." She said quietly, and Sirius looked taken off-guard by her quick apology. "But you have to admit that Potter can be a bit of an idiot."

The heat in his eyes dimmed, and after a moment the corner of his mouth quirked up slightly.

"I'd be the last to deny it. Especially where Evans is concerned."

"So I was right, then, he does fancy her?"

Sirius snorted.

"A bit of an understatement, quite frankly, but yes. Has since first year, I think, though he only started talking about it last year." He grimaced ruefully. "And hasn't stopped since."

Hermione smiled slightly at that.

"And he doesn't think he'll hurt his chances, constantly picking on one of her closest friends?"

Sirius made a sound close to retching in the back of his throat.

"Who, Snivellus? The prat deserves everything he gets, and then some. It's hardly as though he's some helpless little angel, you know-more like a great greasy bat, really, if we're comparing him to winged creatures. He starts plenty of it himself."

Her smile disappeared, and she swiveled to fix him with a very severe look.

"That 'great greasy bat' also happens to be one of _my_ best friends, if you've forgotten. If I can be polite about Potter and his family, I'm sure you can abstain from insulting my friends for the duration of our time here. However long that might be." She frowned at this last bit, and Sirius scowled thoughtfully.

"Can't be too long. Someone is bound to notice you missing, if Lestrange doesn't owl your father himself first."

Hermione hummed in muted agreement, deciding not to comment on the fact that he hadn't said anything about _his_ family noticing his absence. Or on the fact that he seemed to be attempting to reassure her.

Adjusting herself in the massive bed, letting her back rest against the carved oak headboard, Hermione settled back and prepared for what she had a feeling would, in fact, be quite a long wait.

* * *

Hermione awoke with a start, momentarily disoriented as she felt something warm and slightly hard shift under her cheek. Pulling herself fully upright, she glanced blearily to her left, where the by-now very familiar form of Sirius Black was stretched out on the enormous four-poster bed right beside her. He appeared quite awake, and looked up from the book in his lap, which she noted with some surprise was the unsavory one on curses she had been perusing earlier.

"I fell asleep?" She questioned unnecessarily, running a self-conscious hand through her thick curls, which she was certain must be snarled into a frizzy mess.

She realized, her cheeks pinking slightly, that she must have nodded off right onto Sirius's shoulder. Now that she was more awake, the vague memories from directly before she had fallen asleep came back, and she recalled sitting beside the Black heir while they discussed _Olde and Powerful Curses for the Torture of the Muggle_. Sirius was very clever, and knew a considerable amount about Dark curses—unsurprising, given his upbringing.

She had always had a rather poor opinion of Sirius's academic habits and intellectual curiosity, as she had never once caught sight of him in the library and Remus often complained that he and James never studied for any of their exams. But it was clear that, while Sirius might shirk his schoolwork from time to time—with no noticeable effect on his marks, she had noted grumpily—he was far from disinterested in academics. He had a keen scholarly mind, and much like the streak of unexpectedly wicked humor she had observed in Remus early on, it explained a great deal about why the two boys got along so famously.

As he had engaged her in conversation, Hermione had momentarily been able to forget her anxiety about being held captive by Death Eaters, and their reservations about each other seemed to melt away in the face of common ground in a shared intellectual interest—and a shared derision for the archaic and old-fashioned philosophies of the book's author.

"Drifted right off. It was kind of cute, actually, I didn't have the heart to wake you; you're really quite fetching when you aren't scowling or looking down your nose at someone, you know." He drawled, nonchalantly turning a page of the curse book.

Clearing her throat and endeavoring to ignore the flush creeping up her neck, Hermione did her best to channel Professor McGonagall as she fixed him with a forbidding look.

"You should have woken me, I don't like the feeling of being so vulnerable with all these Death Eaters about."

Looking up from the book, he smirked at her.

"What, you don't trust me to be your valiant protector should the need arise? Need I remind you that I am in possession of the elbow that felled mad Cousin Bella?"

"She was hardly 'felled'." Hermione snorted. "'Moderately irritated' might be more accurate. And need I remind _you_ that she then proceeded to stun you, after which you landed rather inelegantly in a puddle of bog water?"

Or at least she assumed he had, from the distinct squelching splash that had accompanied the sound of his body hitting the ground earlier that evening.

"Ah, I thought my robes felt a bit damp," Sirius replied cheerfully, tugging at the collar of said robes, which were indeed very muddy and smelled rather like marsh water.

Hermione was kept from responding by a sudden pop that echoed through the bedchamber, and felt a shocked gasp leave her lungs at the sight of a house-elf suddenly standing in the middle of the room, a voluminous feather duster in one knobby hand.

The young witch and wizard on the bed stared, speechless, at the tiny creature, who turned to face them at the sound of Hermione's gasp, and immediately squealed loudly, dropping the feather duster. The bulbous eyes, as green as apples, and the distinctly bat-like ears called to mind a barrage of Old Hermione's memories, and her counterpart's jaw dropped as she beheld what was unmistakable the house-elf known as Dobby.

"Dobby is terribly sorry, young miss and sir, for Dobby did not realize there was anyone in this room. The Lestranges is never having guests!"

Sliding off the bed, and hearing the whisper of the brocade comforter as Sirius did the same, Hermione did her best to fix a kindly smile in place, despite the rapid pounding of her heart.

"That's perfectly alright, Dobby, you've done nothing wrong."

The elf's eyes, if it was possible, widened even further and he shook his head frantically, his ears flicking against the sides of his rotund head.

"No, no, Dobby is terribly wrong not to knock, Mistress Bellatrix is instructing Dobby always to knock, and Dobby did not knock! Dobby must punish himself!"

Hermione shot a glance at Sirius, who was regarding the elf with a sort of morbid fascination, his mouth half open in complete bemusement even as the little creature lunged for the bookshelf, seizing one of the weightier tomes off the bottom shelf and beginning to beat himself over the head with it.

"Dobby, stop!" Hermione exclaimed, and suddenly, the elf was hurling the book away from himself as if he had been burned, shock filling his apple-green eyes.

He looked back and forth between the witch in front of him and the book at his feet several times. Hermione realized, with a sudden flash of clarity, that Dobby had been forced to obey her inadvertent order. And she also very suddenly remembered a conversation she had had with Old Hermione years ago, about when and how exactly Dobby had entered her family's employment.

"Dobby…did your master or mistress ever mention you being given to another family? As a gift, perhaps?" She ventured slowly.

"Dobby is to go to the Master Lucius Malfoy and his new wife, Mistress Bellatrix's sister, as a wedding present. Dobby is to be leaving the castle in two days' time."

"I am Lucius Malfoy's sister, Hermione."

The elf, before she could stop him, was hurling himself at her feet in supplication, and Hermione felt cold thinking of what treatment he must be accustomed to to regard a mistress with such fear and reverence.

"There's no need to bow, Dobby, or to grovel." She said, gently but firmly in a manner she had adopted from Abraxas. "All of my family's elves are treated with courtesy and respect, and you will be no different."

The little elf's eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets.

"The Malfoys must be very great wizards." He breathed with reverence, and Sirius snorted loudly.

Shooting the boy a chilly look, Hermione kneeled so that she was on eye level with the elf, who looked as though the very foundations of his world had just been rocked. Perhaps they had been, she thought sadly, by the idea of witches and wizards treating him with anything but outright cruelty.

Drawing on her memories of Old Hermione's time imprisoned in Malfoy Manor—which she generally tried to avoid, given the unpleasant connotations they attached to her childhood home—she shivered as she experienced that familiar feeling of deja vu that overtook her whenever an eery parallel seemed to appear between her past life and this one.

They were imprisoned in the Lestranges' castle in Scotland, not the dungeons of the Manor, and the boy she was currently imprisoned with had been a long-dead adult in Old Hermione's iteration of this experience, but the similarities were still striking. And now, with the appearance of Dobby, it seemed Hermione Malfoy would make an escape from her Death Eater captors that uncannily resembled Old Hermione's escape from Malfoy Manor. It made her wonder what other parallels her and her counterpart's life might end up exhibiting.

At least Bellatrix hadn't tortured her, and she doubted the woman would; they were being treated with far more care than Old Hermione and her companions had been when they had been captured by Death Eaters. No doubt the Lestranges and their comrades wanted to avoid hurting Sirius and Hermione at all costs, for fear of enraging their families past the point of being willing to comply with Voldemort's wishes. That didn't mean, however, that she had any desire to remain in this dank and musty castle filled with Dark magic any longer than necessary.

"How far are you able to apparate, Dobby?" She asked calmly, glancing nervously at the door.

They hadn't heard a peep from Dolohov since he had locked them in the bed chamber hours earlier. But she didn't doubt that he was still in the corridor outside, a watchful eye on the door. Fear of Bellatrix's wrath would keep him there.

"Dobby does not know. Dobby is born in Daingneach Neònach, he is never having been away from the island."

"House-elves can apparate really long distances. Kreacher brought Regulus and me all the way from London to central France, once." Sirius interjected, clearly realizing her intention. "Here from Wiltshire should be no problem."

"Dobby, do you think you could apparate us from here to Malfoy Manor, in Wiltshire?"

The elf nodded slowly, looking very hesitant.

"Dobby could, he thinks, but Dobby is worried Mistress Bellatrix will be very angry. Everything makes Mistress Bellatrix very angry."

"Bellatrix is not your mistress any longer, Dobby, Narcissa Malfoy is. And I promise she won't let Bellatrix hurt you—I'll make sure of it."

The elf looked at her with just a spark of the militant gleam she remembered from the Dobby of Old Hermione's world. With new resolve, the little elf nodded, holding out his knobby hands to Hermione and Sirius.

There was a considerably louder crack than when the little elf had appeared in the bed chamber, and Hermione was sure Dolohov would be bursting in at any moment to investigate. But he would be too late, for they were already squeezing through the darkened tunnel of apparition.

After a long moment (considerably longer than side-along apparition usually took) Hermione was stumbling to her feet in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. It was incredibly disorientating; for a moment Hermione felt her memories melding with her counterpart's, and she felt a thrill of fear and alarm as the image of the brightly-illuminated drawing room in front of her shifted, turning into something dark and menacing. She could swear that the tall figure of Bellatrix Lestrange loomed from the corner, and almost reached for her wand before she was able to shake herself from the memory's grip.

There had been a chorus of surprised exclamations upon their appearance, and Hermione turned to face the couches arranged by the fireplace, one of which appeared to have just been vacated by her father and Lucius, who were both standing with their wands drawn. Narcissa, looking very small and tired, was curled against the cushions of the other couch, and Hermione was slightly surprised to see the statuesque figure of Walburga Black seated beside her. The woman's husband, Orion, was also present, and had risen alongside the other wizards upon their arrival.

"Hermione!" Lucius immediately exclaimed, lowering his wand and taking a step in her direction.

"Lucius." He was forestalled by the calm, deadly command in his father's voice. "We must confirm their identities."

Fixing his supposed daughter with an imperious look, Abraxas asked,

"What did you receive for your eighth birthday?"

"A Granian." Hermione replied immediately.

She had been reminded irresistibly of Old Hermione's memories of a spoiled Draco Malfoy proclaiming that his father had purchased him a herd of Abraxans; nonetheless, she had been delighted with the gift of the winged horse. Still, she resolved not to allow Lucius to spoil her nephew the way Abraxas had her; if she had been an ordinary child, she was certain it would have utterly ruined her.

The tightness in Abraxas's eyes lessened slightly at her response, and he turned to Sirius's parents, clearly expecting them to ask their son a question of a similar nature.

"What did you used to call Kreacher, when you were a child?" Walburga asked after a moment, her tone unreadable, and Sirius looked taken off-guard by the question.

After a moment, he responded with clear reluctance,

"Cher-cher."

Hermione, despite the inappropriate timing, couldn't help but snort in amused disbelief, and Sirius fixed her with an arrogant look.

"It was before I settled on 'wanker'." He clarified, even as Abraxas swept across the room and placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder, as if to confirm that she was indeed physically present.

Orion, beside Abraxas, had also approached the young people, and stood before his son with the stilted air of a man searching for the proper words. At last he seemed to settle on,

"You are well, son?"

"As well as can be expected, considering I just escaped the captivity of bloody Death Eaters." Sirius responded, sounding as stiff and uncomfortable as his father.

At the mention of their captors, the heaviness returned to the room, and a darkness entered Abraxas's eyes that Hermione was not entirely sure she had ever seen in her father.

"Indeed. I received an owl from Rabastan Lestrange in the early hours of this morning, shortly after I sent the house-elves out onto the grounds to find you, Hermione. They had just discovered the kitchen elf Phyllo unconscious in the hedge maze when the letter arrived. It made no mention of you, young Mr. Black, but Lucius said that he had seen you with my daughter the last time he saw her, and when your parents informed me you did not return to your home in London following the reception, it became evident what had happened."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. In the chaos and panic of things, she had momentarily forgotten about the little elf that Bellatrix had been dragging about through the hedge maze. She was grateful the woman had left him alive, as she had grimly been expecting the worst.

"Bellatrix used Phyllo as bait to lure me into the maze." She explained quietly, even as her father led her over to the couch and seated her beside Narcissa, who placed a comforting hand upon her own. "They'd been planning it for quite some time—they must have known the anti-apparation wards would be lifted for the wedding. They took us to Daingneach Neònach, in Scotland."

"There are sound wards of every kind, including anti-apparation, around the Lestranges' properties. How did you escape?" Mr. Black inquired.

Hermione was surprised to be directly addressed by the man, who had never before appeared to note that she was a higher life-form, but she replied nonetheless.

"The Lestranges' elf, Dobby," Here she gestured to the diminutive creature, who had been standing fearfully behind Sirius's knees and avoiding the notice of the other witches and wizards in the room.

Now, the eyes of everyone turned upon him, and he squeaked loudly, his hands fretfully twisting themselves into the filthy loincloth that was his only article of clothing.

"He was to be a wedding present for Lucius and Narcissa from Bellatrix and Rodolphus. It seems the contract must have already been signed by the Lestranges, because he was beholden to me as a mistress and was able to defy Bellatrix's orders and apparate us here."

"Ah yes, house-elf magic. A mysterious thing." Abraxas muttered, mostly to himself, viewing the elf speculatively. "Thimble!"

There was a muted pop, and the clean, tidy chamber-elf popped into the drawing room with an expectant look in her wide blue eyes.

"Would you see to it that this elf—Dobby, is it?—receives some food and is given something cleaner to wear?"

"Certainly, Master." Shooting the other elf a speculative look, Thimble reached out to grab him by a thin shoulder, and the two elves disappeared with a slightly louder pop.

With the elves gone, Abraxas returned his attention to the other patriarch in the room.

"Orion, I think we ought to continue our conversation at a later date. Perhaps an evening this week?"

Giving Abraxas an inscrutable look, Mr. Black nodded.

"Yes. We have…much to discuss regarding recent events. Walburga? Sirius?"

Walburga rose to her feet in a flurry of green velvet, and Sirius reluctantly shuffled over to join his parents by the drawing room fireplace, which was flaring emerald with the handful of floor powder Lucius had graciously tossed in for the family.

Orion and Walburga stepped in first, disappearing in a flash of green fire. Sirius cast Hermione an unreadable look over one shoulder, before stepping into the fireplace after his parents. There was a long silence in the drawing room following the Blacks' departure.

"Well. I'm terribly sorry to have disrupted your wedding day so dreadfully, Narcissa." Hermione said at last, fighting to make her tone light. "I hope you can forgive me."

The woman smiled wanly, and Hermione was struck by how beautiful she still looked, despite her disheveled hair and the cosmetics charms she had worn for her wedding long having faded.

"Yes, Narcissa, perhaps you'd best be to bed. It's been a difficult night, and I wouldn't want you to strain yourself further; Father and I will ensure that Hermione is settled, and I'll be up to our apartments shortly." Lucius said.

Gently patting Hermione's hand in a reassuring fashion, Narcissa leaned over to whisper unobtrusively in her new sister-in-law's ear.

"We witches always recognize a dismissal, veiled with sweet words as it may be. We shall have to work to together to remain abreast of whatever our wizards may endeavor to keep from us, hm?"

Hermione smirked slightly, even as the woman rose to her feet with surprising grace given her obvious tiredness.

"I shall do just that, I'm afraid all the excitement has quite exhausted me. Goodnight Father, Hermione."

She glided out of the room, shutting the drawing room doors behind her with a muted click. Abraxas moved to sit on the couch across from his daughter, his features cast into sharp relief by the light of the fireplace. For the first time, Hermione noticed the crow's feet beginning to etch themselves into the skin by her father's eyes, and the tiredness lurking beneath his usually unreadable gaze. There was a dip in the couch beside her as Lucius joined her, and after a moment she felt the comforting touch of his hand upon her hair, running through the knotted curls once or twice in a reassuring fashion.

"Explain what happened, in as much detail as you can recall." Abraxas instructed, leaning back against the couch and lacing his hands together.

The tone of firm yet gentle command in his voice steadied her, as it had since she was a young girl, and Hermione clearly and concisely described the events of the entire night—leaving out the bit about her and Sirius smoking muggle cigarettes, and also neglecting to mention that she had fallen asleep on top of the Black heir, as these seemed to her unnecessary details.

When she concluded the story nearly half an hour later, watery dawn light was beginning to filter through the drawing room curtains, and her father and brother both looked to be deep in thought.

"This is highly troubling." Abraxas murmured.

After a long moment, he fixed his daughter with a resigned look and continued,

"I wished to keep you as far away from these matters as possible, Hermione, but it seems that is now impossible. You will have already ascertained that the Dark Lord has been vying for my political and financial backing for quite some time now—years, in fact. And, recently, his followers have been pressing Lucius to join their ranks. I have been resisting, as Lucius's intelligence has indicated that the Dark Lord merely wishes to exploit us for our resources; I had no desire to become entangled with him and his ilk, but they are becoming far more…troublesome, as of late."

Hermione exchanged a glance with Lucius, who cocked an eyebrow slightly at her questioning look. Sighing, Hermione smoothed her filthy skirts and said,

"Father, please don't be angry when I tell you this…"

Abraxas looked very wary, as only a father can when he hears these words.

"But I've known about the Dark Lord's intentions for quite some time. At our Vernal Equinox Ball four years ago I overheard Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and another Death Eater discussing trying to convince you to lend your support. I told Lucius, which I assume contributed to the intelligence he was gathering at the time."

Lucius inclined his head, and Abraxas's gaze flicked back and forth between his two children, his eyes unreadable. After a moment, he cracked a reluctant smile.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to find my own children conspiring against me." He said wryly.

After a moment of hesitation, Hermione continued, spurred on by Old Hermione's urging to seize the opportunity.

"Father, there's something else you should know. I had been meaning to tell you, as the whispers reached me several months ago, but I wasn't sure how to broach the subject."

Abraxas made a gesture encouraging her to continue.

"There are…persistent rumors, from a variety of sources, that the Dark Lord's father was a muggle."

Lucius made a noise of surprise, and Abraxas's eyebrows came together.

"These are credible sources, Hermione, not simply the gossip of schoolgirls?" He inquired sharply, and Hermione gave him an imperious look.

"I would not have brought the matter to your attention if I did not consider the sources credible."

Abraxas looked thoughtful, but after a moment shrugged slightly.

"His birth is rather insignificant, ultimately. He has gathered resources, gold, and support from a great many influential people; he has grown powerful, and power is all that matters to a man like him."

"But think of how he gathered all this support. It was largely through espousing political views which resonated with the influential, older families who have given him footing; blood purity is one of the central tenants of his political message, and without it he would lose the backing of many key supporters. He's already likely alienated the Blacks, to some degree, wouldn't you say? I can't imagine they were pleased with the kidnapping of their heir."

She was probing for information, curious as to what exactly her father and Orion Black would be discussing later that week, and Abraxas gave her a look that said he knew what she was about.

"Orion is not pleased, certainly. But the Blacks are already deeply-entrenched in the Dark Lord's following. It is a delicate matter."

That seemed to be all he was willing to say on it, and Hermione accepted her father's reticence in stride. She was shocked he had even entertained speaking to her about such matters for this long, and was concerned he might order her to bed at any moment. This fear spurred her into boldness.

"Papa…if these rumors were to be confirmed…would you not agree that it might destabilize the Dark Lord's standing amongst some of his key supporters?"

Abraxas nodded slowly, his eyes darkened by thought.

"Yes…certainly, _if_ these rumors could be confirmed, it would not be insignificant."

"Perhaps Lucius could speak to some of his contacts?" She glanced at her brother, who was staring at her with a strange expression.

"Yes. I will have people looking into it as well. You are correct that this would give us some much-needed leverage with the Dark Lord. But it won't be enough, not with the situation escalated to the degree it has been after tonight. Lucius, we must discuss how to proceed. Hermione, you'd best be getting to bed, you need your rest."

Slightly irritated by the dismissal, but hopeful that her father might be influenced by the information she had just shared, Hermione got to her feet and left the drawing room, bidding her father and brother goodnight on the way out. Somehow, she was unsurprised to find Narcissa gracefully perched at the base of the marble staircase in the foyer, her hands crossed in her lap and an expectant look on her face.

"Let's go upstairs. I can fill you in while I have the elves draw a bath." Hermione said, and the woman rose to her feet, linking arms with her sister-in-law as the two witches ascended the staircase.

The men might think they were firmly at the reigns, cloistered away in strategy and conspiracy in the drawing room, but as Hermione glanced over at Narcissa's calmly smooth features, she wondered if perhaps the woman beside her might be one of the most formidable allies she had acquired yet.


	8. Ruthless Witches

Chapter Eight

Ruthless Witches

September, 1975

"It ought to be against the school's bylaws to have potions classes at eight. I'll be sick if I have to look at bat spleen every morning right after breakfast." Judith murmured disconsolately, as she and Hermione shuffled out of the Great Hall alongside a swarm of other students making their way to their first classes of the term.

"While I wholeheartedly agree, I'm sure Severus would not." Hermione replied somewhat absently, her thoughts elsewhere.

The summer had passed by in a slowly-moving drip of afternoon teas and picnics with Narcissa and other 'appropriate company'. While getting to know her new sister-in-law had certainly been the upshot of all this leisure time, Hermione's many attempts to draw her father and Lucius into further conference regarding the Dark Lord had been infuriatingly futile.

She had her suspicions, however, about how things were developing; Lucius had been acting oddly the past few weeks, and the night before her departure to school, Hermione had drawn Narcissa aside and confided in her that she suspected Lucius may have taken the Mark. Narcissa had grown pale and wan, but had firmly assured her sister-in-law that she would swiftly acquire confirmation one way or the other. Hermione had anxiously awaited Narcissa's handsome barn owl all throughout breakfast that morning, but it had not arrived.

"Where is Sev, anyway?" Judith was saying, craning her neck to get a glimpse at the swarm of bobbing heads and black uniform robes all around them.

"Off sulking somewhere. We got into a little spat last night over a silly bit of charms trivia—I was right, of course, and he's been nursing a bruised ego ever since."

Having caught sight of the back of the boy in question's head a foot or two in front of them, Hermione had raised her voice slightly near the end of this statement, and was gratified to see Severus glance back over his shoulder at her with a mutinous look.

Judith snickered slightly, and Hermione smirked, as Severus silently fell in step with his friends and the three of them made their way down to the dungeons alongside a trickle of other Slytherin fifth years.

As they converged on the corridor outside the potions classroom, the group of Gryffindors already milling about outside the locked room made it evident that the Slytherins shared this class period with their rival house.

Lily Evans, who was standing between two girls Hermione recognized as Marlene McKinnon and Emmeline Vance outside the classroom, waved enthusiastically as soon as she caught sight of Severus, who responded with a curt little nod, his eyes darting about to assess how many of his housemates had witnessed him openly greeting the girl. Ever since the confrontation in Hogsmeade the previous spring, he had seemed to grow more wary of being seen in public with the pretty muggleborn. Hermione guessed from Lily's expression, which was a combination of crestfallen and resigned, that the witch had also noticed this shift.

House tensions had been slowly but quite perceptibly rising over the past couple of years, and the distrustful and in some cases openly hostile glances that were exchanged between the two groups of students were a testament to this.

Hermione and Judith generally kept out of it as much as possible, but Severus, whose dorm-mates were far more brazenly aggressive towards the Gryffindors, was frequently unable to avoid involvement entirely. He was no doubt afraid that Avery or Travers would notice his friendly behavior towards the Evans girl and corner him later with threats and accusations. Not that he would ever mention any of this to his friends, of course. All of this Hermione had gathered from a combination of eavesdropping, gossip and deduction.

Among the rapidly-swelling group of fifth-year Gryffindors outside the potions classroom, Hermione caught sight of a familiar head of slightly-too-long dark hair, and felt her pulse momentarily speed up—which immediately led to a burst of embarrassment at this involuntary reaction.

All four Marauders were lounging against a wall near the back of the knot of Gryffindors, chatting and laughing amicably. Sirius and James were knocking shoulders with conspiratorial grins on their faces, while Pettigrew snickered effusively and Remus seemed to be attempting a stern expression—which was a massive failure, as his twitching lips and the dimple on his left cheek gave him away.

Smiling, Hermione fondly noted that Remus had shot up like a beanstalk over the summer; the formerly rather scrawny boy was now an inch taller even than Sirius, who had previously been the tallest of the group by a notable margin. She had briefly seen the boy during their prefects' meeting on the Express the previous day, but they had only had time to quickly greet one another before having to head out on rounds about the train.

Unconsciously, her hand drifted up to her left breast, where her prefect's badge was affixed. She hadn't been quite expecting the appointment, as she was hardly so engaged or notable a student as Old Hermione had been in her previous life, but she supposed it did make sense when you looked at the other Slytherin girls in their year. Dahlia was too irresponsible (not to mention generally dislikable), Claudia's marks weren't good enough, and Judith simply wasn't assertive enough to effectively maintain order amongst her peers.

A swathe was cut through the increasingly restless group of fifth-years, then, as the rotund figure of Horace Slughorn appeared from around the corner, puffing lightly and chuckling jovially as he clapped the shoulders of several students in passing.

"Merlin's beard, my knees are just not up to all these abominable staircases anymore!" The man exclaimed, waving his wand at the locked classroom doors and sweeping into the room, the flood of chattering students pouring in behind him.

"I am not being your partner again this term." Severus muttered to her, even as they slid into seats near the front of the room, at the same long table as Travers, Avery and Rosier, all of whom nodded cordially as the three of them sat down.

"Why not?" She exclaimed over the sound of scraping chairs and swishing robes as students got settled.

"You aggravate me." The boy replied blandly, and she scowled at him.

"I'm sorry if you find it aggravating when I point out that you've deviated from the instructions—"

"Sometimes I know better than the instructions." Severus said, a hint of real pride gleaming in his gaze, and Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes.

The truly aggravating bit was that she knew this was true—she just resented it.

"Right! Welcome, welcome, to your final year of OWL-level potions!" Slughorn exclaimed, his booming voice washing over the dungeons and gradually causing the chatter to fade to whispers and then disappear entirely. "I do hope you all had lovely summer holidays—I know that Miss Parkinson certainly did, as we happened to run into each other in the south of France this July. I was on the continent visiting a very dear friend of mine—you may have heard of her, Cassandra Vablatsky, very gifted Seer and a former student."

Treating Dahlia to a twinkling smile, which the girl returned with a nauseating simper, Slughorn went on to explain that they would be spending the term doing extensive practical preparations for their OWLs in the spring. As they had so much material to cover by then, they would be starting their first potion of the term that very day.

As the tide of conversation began to rise once more, people leaning over to whisper and gesticulate to the friends they wanted to partner with, Slughorn fought to make himself heard.

"I have assigned you partners ahead of time!" He exclaimed, cheerfully ignoring the disappointed groan that rose from the assembled students.

As he began rattling off these partners, the first of which was Severus and Alice Macmillan, Hermione leaned over to murmur to her friend,

"Well it looks like you're in luck, you won't have to be my partner after all."

"Even you would be better than Macmillan." Severus grumbled.

"Don't be difficult, Sev, she's a pleasant girl." Hermione chided.

"She can be pleasant all she likes, so long as she doesn't melt any more cauldrons." The boy said flatly.

Hermione chuckled slightly, her older counterpart's memories of Alice's son, Neville, briefly coming to mind. It seemed that a propensity for clumsiness in the potions classroom ran in the family, as Alice was notoriously poor at the subject. She knew from her counterpart's memories that the woman had become an auror, but she wondered how, when it seemed unlikely she would receive the proper marks in potions to advance to NEWT-level in the subject.

She was shaken out of her thoughts by the sound of Slughorn calling her own name.

"Hermione Malfoy and Sirius Black!"

Hermione's stomach squeezed uncomfortably, and she blinked owlishly several times, even as Judith made sympathetic noises and Severus murmured,

"Well, at least Macmillan won't melt any cauldrons _on purpose_."

There was a great shuffle and flood of chatter as all the students rose to their feet a few minutes later, rearranging themselves as they sought out their assigned partners.

Hermione easily located her own partner at the table farthest to the back of the classroom. He was sitting with his feet propped up on a stool, lazily levitating what appeared to be spitballs at the back of Pettigrew's head. The poor boy already had two nestled in his mousy hair, and appeared to be too occupied conversing with his partner to have noticed.

Pulling up short before the table, Hermione fixed him with her very best intimidating look; it was made somewhat easier by the fact that she could quite literally look down her nose at him. She tried to banish from her mind the memory of Sirius telling her that she was 'quite fetching' when she wasn't doing that very thing.

"Terribly sorry to interrupt your sport, but we do have an Invigoration Draught to be getting on with."

Lowering his wand, Sirius fixed her with an insolent look, a little smirk playing about the edges of his mouth.

"Actually, I find my current engagements plenty invigorating, Princess."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione was about to respond with a cutting remark, when a great bang and clatter to their left caught her attention.

"Good lord, Potter, could you be any more incompetent?"

This shrill admonishment was courtesy of Lily Evans, who it appeared had been partnered with none other than James Potter. He had evidently just knocked a cutting board and silver knife to the ground, as the handsome quidditch player was currently scrabbling about on his hands and knees gathering said objects.

Lily, who was standing at the other end of the table looking positively steamed, caught Hermione's eye and threw her hands up in the air in evident frustration. Hermione gave her a commiserating smile.

"These pairings are truly all the evidence I need that Slughorn is a sadist. Should we report him to the Board of Governors, do you think?" Hermione said, her voice lowered in a mock-conspiratorial tone.

Lily snorted.

"We really should. Anyone who sees fit to force sane people to interact with these dunderheads shouldn't be trusted with children."

Hermione glanced at Sirius, who was observing this interaction with an unreadable gleam in his eye. Upon noticing her attention, his pensive look faded to one of theatrical hurt.

"You wound me, ladies, truly. Sir Dunderhead and I," Potter had emerged from beneath the table just then, his hair even wilder than usual and his glasses askew, "are deeply injured by your words, and will likely never recover. Isn't that right, Sir Dunderhead?"

"Indeed it is, Monsieur Dunderhead. I find myself overcome."

In a display of his beleaguerment, James flung himself across the table, his hand clasped to his heart.

"Sir Dunderhead! Stay with us!"

The ostentatious performance had drawn the attention of most of the nearby students, by this time, and there was widespread snickering and giggling. Much to the chagrin of both Lily and Hermione, Slughorn had been drawn by the evident disturbance, and swept up to their table just then.

"Now, now, what's this all about?" He inquired jovially, chuckling as James continued to roll about on the table while Sirius pawed at him in a theatrical attempt to revive him from his swoon.

"We've been wounded beyond all recovery, Professor!" Sirius exclaimed. "The witches you have thrust upon us are merciless."

"Ruthless!"

"Remorseless!"

"Professor, would it be possible for Lily and I to work together, instead? I would truly hate to tear these two apart." Hermione said dryly.

"Now, now, boys, I think that's quite enough." Slughorn chided gently, the corners of his mouth still twitching.

Turning to Hermione, he treated her to a conciliatory smile.

"And Miss Malfoy, I'm afraid the partners for the term are set. I'm sure these two gentlemen will be more cooperative moving forward," He gave the two Gryffindors what was no doubt supposed to be a stern look, "And I'm sure you and Miss Evans will be an excellent mediating influence."

He strolled off then, chuckling to himself. Hermione shook her head in annoyance, exchanging irritable looks with Lily as James and Sirius snickered.

"Good old Sluggy. I don't think he's handed out a detention a day in his life." James hooted.

"Need I remind you that Hermione and I are both prefects, and therefor could potentially correct that oversight on Professor Slughorn's part?" Lily said waspishly.

Technically prefects, with the exception of seventh years, could not assign detentions to students in their own year and older, but Hermione was not about to interject with this correction.

"You can't give us detention, Evans, we're in the same year." Sirius drawled, and Hermione couldn't keep the surprise from showing on her face.

"Read _Hogwarts: A History_ , have you?" She inquired mockingly.

She was shocked even further when Sirius looked a touch embarrassed and James snorted with laughter, elbowing his friend in the ribs. Given the bookish, academic side of Sirius he had revealed to her during their captivity that summer, she supposed she shouldn't have been so surprised. But the idea of the arrogant, sporty Gryffindor curled up in an armchair reading _Hogwarts: A History_ was just so incongruous with the way he presented himself to the world it was comical.

"Can't break the rules if you don't know what they are, can you?" He said loftily.

Hermione rolled her eyes for what felt like the dozenth time that hour.

"Your investment in this performance of a devil-may-care attitude is honestly admirable."

Sirius's expression shifted and his eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't look angry, precisely. It was closer to the pensive look he had been wearing earlier when he had observed her initial interaction with Lily. There was a piercing, demanding curiosity in it and it made Hermione feel like squirming.

To get away from the look, she very deliberately turned and cracked open her potions text, staring down at the ingredients list for the Invigoration Draught with exaggerated focus.

"Make yourself useful and fetch a cauldron, will you?" She muttered irritably, annoyed at how warm her cheeks felt.

"I'm yours to command, Princess."

Clearing her throat to hide the choked little squeak she had just issued, Hermione glared at Sirius's retreating back as he swaggered away. James was hot on his heels, having just been tongue-lashed by Lily into fetching their cauldron as well.

"You'd better be careful of him, you know."

Hermione glanced up from the potions book in surprise (she didn't really need to look at it in any case, Old Hermione had made hundreds of Invigoration Draughts and the procedure was cemented in both of their minds). Lily was leaning against the opposite side of the table, neatly laying out all of her ingredients, but looked up then, meeting Hermione's eyes with a sympathetic smile.

"He's a menace, has nearly every girl in our year twisted in knots."

"I may be a Slytherin, Evans, but I'm not a _total_ social pariah; I'm well aware of Black's reputation. And rest assured he is entirely incapable of twisting me into anything."

"I believe you." Lily laughed, deftly crushing a handful of scarab beetle eyes with her mortar and pestle. "Not many people—aside from me, of course, and maybe Remus on a good day—will stand up to those two, and you certainly have often enough."

Hermione began her own ingredient preparations, wondering offhandedly what was taking the boys so long with the cauldrons. They were occupied causing another scene or otherwise wreaking havoc, no doubt.

"Well it's not as if they've left me much choice, keeping after Severus and me the way they do."

Hermione sneaked a glance at the redhead, and observed the way her expression shifted from cheerful to melancholy at the mention of their mutual friend's name.

"Sev…he's, er, well?"

"I'm not sure Severus is ever 'well', exactly, but he's no worse than usual."

"That's…that's good."

Lily pursed her lips, her eyebrows puckering slightly. Hermione nearly sighed with exasperation. These Gryffindors really had no idea how to conceal their emotions; it was an embarrassing display that would have been groomed out of them at an early age, had they grown up in families like Hermione's and her housemates'. All the Gryffindors excepting Sirius, of course. Him she could never quite read—even used to people raised in households like the Blacks' as she was. It was infuriating, really.

"You and Severus haven't been keeping in touch?" Hermione ventured, keeping her eyes trained on her chopping board.

"He ignored me nearly all summer. We live just ten minutes from each other, but he wouldn't come over to visit even once."

Hermione shifted slightly, a ripple of indecision running through her. Finally she said,

"Be patient with him. His position within the house is…tenuous. He must tread lightly. I do believe he cares for you, despite his considerable emotional incompetence. He wouldn't put himself at risk this way, otherwise."

"How does being friends with me put him at risk?"

Hermione looked up from her ingredient board and fixed Lily with an incredulous look. She had thought the girl was trying to make a point, but from the expression of bewilderment on her face it was obvious that she was genuinely naive about the matter.

Pushing her ingredients into neat little piles along the board, Hermione put down her silver knife and leaned back from the bench.

"You're a muggleborn, and a Gryffindor, so it's difficult for you to understand these things," She began slowly.

Noting a spark of outrage in the other girl's eye, she quickly continued.

"And I don't say that condescendingly. It's simply that things are different for people who are not part of the world that I was raised in; as an outsider looking in, it's not easy to make sense of things."

She had always been aided immensely by Old Hermione's memories of the muggle world and the experience of living as a muggleborn student at Hogwarts; she was certain she would not be able to navigate this conversation effectively otherwise. It was really no wonder that muggleborn students had such a hard go of it at Hogwarts—and later, in the wizarding world at large—she had thought to herself on many occasions. There really was such a culture gap, and most wizards were simply clueless when it came to their counterparts who had grown up in non-magical communities.

"What do you mean, exactly, 'the world' you were raised in? I know the Malfoys' reputation, but…" Lily trailed off, obviously not wanting to say anything offensive.

Hermione smiled wryly.

"Yes, I'd imagine you've heard plenty of sordid tales about our inbreeding and all of the muggle children we torture in the dungeons of our estate."

Lily grinned rather guiltily. Clearly this wasn't far from whatever gossip she had picked up in the Gryffindor dorms.

"I assure you it's nothing so exciting." Hermione said lightly, choosing not to mention that this really wasn't entirely inaccurate for people like the Lestranges. "Less along the lines of torturing muggles and more along the lines of balls, teas, arranged marriages, all sorts of things that must sound terribly archaic to you. My family—and the sorts of families most of my housemates come from—is one of the very old wizarding families. And with old families come old values. It's rather like the muggle aristocracy, except less modernized—really it's probably more like the muggle aristocracy a couple of centuries ago. Many families still have very conservative ideals."

"Oh. You mean like blood purity." Lily's eyes had grown rather cold, and her posture stiff. "So you're saying that Severus can't be my friend because I'm a muggleborn, is that it?"

"I'm saying that his friendship with you puts him in a difficult position within a very rigid and unforgiving social hierarchy—which he already struggles to maintain a place in, given his own birth. The fact that he still displays his friendship with you openly, given the trouble it causes him, ought to speak volumes about his moral character. Calling my house a pit of snakes seems a bit of a hackneyed metaphor, but it is certainly not an inaccurate one."

Lily seemed to thaw a bit at this, and was regarding the other girl curiously.

"And what about you, then? You said you come from one of these old families with conservative values. Do you think Severus shouldn't be my friend because of my…background?"

When Hermione spoke, after a moment, she chose each word carefully.

"I think that to assume anything about anyone based on their background is usually a shortsighted mistake."

Lily was regarding her with an appraising expression. She thought the girl was about to subject her to another difficult question, and was shocked into a surprised giggle when she asked,

"You actually go to balls?"

"Not as regularly as you're probably imagining, but yes, my family hosts and attends a few formal events every year. I don't have to suffer through nearly as many of them now that I'm away at school for most of the year, though."

Lily looked genuinely fascinated, and seemed about to ask another question, when she was cut short by the return of their respective partners. Potter and Black were approaching, levitating their cauldrons several feet ahead of themselves and occasionally 'accidentally' allowing one of the heavy pewter receptacles to swing in the direction of a Slytherin's head.

Hermione and Lily exchanged exasperated looks, and with a quick accio, Hermione wrested control of the floating cauldron from a gleeful-looking Sirius. He was snickering a very insincere apology to a glaring Henry Travers, who had ducked moments before just in time to avoid being brained.

These displays of house rivalry were playful and relatively harmless, and students in both houses who were sitting at the tables nearby were all chuckling or rolling their eyes in good humor, but Hermione couldn't help the dread that was gathering in her stomach. The conflict might still consist of muttered insults and the occasional flung cauldron, but she knew that in a year or two these students would be viciously pitted against one another in a life or death struggle. The thought made her feel cold, and she was shorter with Sirius than she would have otherwise been, snapping at him to make himself useful and light the burner.

Ignoring his curious, disconcertingly sharp eyes on her, along with Lily's occasional curious glances in her direction, she swept off to the ingredient cupboard to fetch a jar of bat spleen.

* * *

Lily shifted her feet in Alice's lap, ignoring the girl's complaints at her fidgeting. It had been a long first day of classes, and the girls were gathered companionably about the fire with Remus, who had just finished his rounds with one of the sixth year Hufflepuff prefects. They had been chatting about their new prefect duties, but all three of the Gryffindors were starting to grow tired and the conversation had been lagging periodically for several minutes now. With this newest lull, Lily seized the opportunity to ask Remus about something that had been niggling at her curiosity all day.

"Remus, you're friends with Hermione Malfoy, aren't you? I always see you two in the library together."

"Yeah, we've been friends since first year."

There was a tenseness in his tone, despite the easy affirmation.

"Why are Potter and Black so horrid to her, then?"

"Why am I so horrid to who?"

Lily jumped slightly, and glanced up to the source of the voice that was in such sudden close proximity. Sirius was standing over the back of the couch looking down at her and Alice. His robes were rumpled and he was slightly flushed his long hair in more disarray than usual. It was obvious he had just returned to the common room, and it didn't take a genius to guess where he had been.

"Hermione."

The boy crossed to the armchair next to Remus and allowed himself to collapse into the ratty cushions with a whump.

"I didn't realize you were so chummy with her, on a first name basis and everything." He said.

"We're not 'chummy'. We were just chatting today in potions while you and Potter were faffing about with the cauldrons. I thought she was a decent sort. Not at all what I was expecting, what with all the rumors you hear about her family."

"My mum was friends with a Malfoy in school, I think. They can't all be bad, I suppose." Alice offered somewhat doubtfully.

"Hermione has always been a good friend to me. Although _some_ ," Here Remus paused to glance significantly at Sirius. "may assume things about her because of her family, she's someone I hold in very high regard."

Lily chewed on her thumb thoughtfully, noting that Sirius's expression had grown very brooding and he seemed disinclined to contribute any further to the conversation.

There was something strange about Hermione, she had realized that day in potions. Everything that Lily knew of her—which was admittedly all secondhand, but came from people like Alice who were very well-connected within wizarding society and would know these sorts of things—painted a picture that was far different from what she had encountered that afternoon.

The girl had spoken to her about the wizarding world in a way that seemed lucidly cognizant of what Lily would and wouldn't know as someone who had grown up in the muggle world; she had not encountered this in any of her friends, even those who she loved dearly and knew didn't think twice about her birth. But this thoughtlessness was not altogether a good thing, and frequently manifested itself in her wizard-born friends blithely taking for granted that she would know and understand things she often found completely indecipherable. It made certain social situations feel frustrating and highly inaccessible to her, and by the end of last year Lily had taken to spending a great deal more time with Mary Macdonald, the only other muggleborn girl in her dorm.

That she would find this degree of quiet sensitivity to her background, that was lacking from even her closest wizard-born friends, in a Slytherin—and a Malfoy, no less—was disconcerting. Yes, Lily was certain of it, there was something strange and unique about Hermione Malfoy.

In the armchair across from her, Sirius was thinking something rather similar.

* * *

On the other side of the castle, Hermione was concluding her own rounds up on the fourth floor. She had been partnered with Rabastan Lestrange, who was one of the sixth year Slytherin prefects. The boy-who, she had noted, was as handsome as his reputation suggested-had been surprisingly amicable and conversational, and they had somehow managed to entirely skirt the fact that his elder brother and sister-in-law had kidnapped her several months previously. They had come across two third year Ravenclaws duelling in the corridors earlier, and Rabastan had left to escort them to Professor Flitwick's office. Hermione had finished patrolling the fourth floor on her own, and had been lingering in front of a particularly lovely painting of a 17th-century garden for the past twenty minutes.

It was rather rare for her to get any alone time, what with the communal living in the dormitories and Judith constantly attached to her hip. She found herself pleased at having received her prefect's appointment, for the first time, at the thought that it would likely give her more opportunities for stolen solitary time. She was just contemplating heading back to the common room, when a harsh rapping at the window positioned directly next to the painting sent her heart racing in fright. Recovering from her surprise, Hermione squinted and was able to make out the indistinct form of an owl perched on the window ledge outside.

It took several minutes of pushing on the heavy glass, but she was finally able to open the window wide enough for an elegant barn owl to squeeze through. Hermione felt her stomach squeeze as she recognized Narcissa's bird. Stroking the creature's head, she detached the small note tied to its leg, and it launched itself back out the window.

Unfurling the note with shaking hands, Hermione smelled the distinctive scent of her sister-in-law's subtle perfume drifting up from the square of cream parchment. There was a single line, written in the woman's elegant hand. She had not bothered with a greeting or a signature.

 _He has taken it._


	9. The Most Potent Medicine

Chapter Nine

The Most Potent Medicine

November, 1975

Hermione arrived to potions late that morning. She had been up into the wee hours of the morning studying the stack of Narcissa's notes and letters that had arrived in the past few months, each one containing vital information the woman had gleaned from eavesdropping and gossip. Narcissa had a working theory, based on what she had meticulously and delicately gathered, that Abraxas had capitulated to Voldemort's demands that his son take the mark in order to buy more time to find information about his lineage. It also benefitted them immensely to have a man on the inside, so to speak, and Narcissa strongly suspected that Lucius was conducting covert subversion from within the ranks.

Hermione had fallen asleep with the letters and her own notes gathered about her in her emerald-upholstered bed. She had woken late in the morning, cursing herself for her carelessness, and hastily cast a glamour on the papers and hidden them away in her trunk. Old Hermione had scolded her at length, and she had spent the time she normally would have gone down to breakfast with Judith taking a long shower to clear her head of both sleep and the irate war veteran berating her to exercise 'constant vigilance'.

She took her seat in the back of the classroom amid Slughorn's introductory lecture, giving the professor an apologetic smile. Remus, who usually sat in the seat across the aisle from hers, was absent; it had been the full moon the previous night, and he was in the Hospital Wing. A quick glance at Sirius, who was slouched beside her, and James next to him, revealed dark circles under their eyes. They had finally become animagi, it seemed; she had known it happened around their fifth year, and had been watching them carefully after each full moon, but this was the first time it was apparent they had been up all night.

Her hair was still wet from the shower, and she withdrew her wand from her bag as Slughorn continued to drone on about Stabilization Solutions. A quick drying charm sent hot air rippling through her locks, and she knew they would be curling into a frizzy mess but couldn't bring herself to care.

"Gardenias."

It was murmured so quietly that she wondered for a moment if she had imagined it, but after a moment she glanced at Black and saw him watching her with a tiny smirk.

"Beg pardon?"

"You smell like a shrub, Malfoy." He said, reaching behind the back of her chair to yank gently on a single curl.

She blushed and gave him an irritable look, gathering her hair onto the shoulder farthest from his interloping hand.

"It's a smoothing formula, it's supposed to help with frizziness." She sniffed.

"Not working very well then, is it?"

"I'm considering a lawsuit against the company for false advertising, actually."

"I'm sure you'd come out on top."

"I generally do."

"Is that so?" There was a wicked gleam in his eyes, and she felt blood rushing to her cheeks once again.

"Good Circe, could you muster the effort to remove your mind from the gutter for even a moment, Black?"

"Certainly, I just choose not to." He replied smugly, and she rolled her eyes, determinedly fixing her gaze on the front of the room.

James, next to Sirius, was beginning to nod off, his glasses sliding forward to the very tip of his nose. Next to him, Lily was focused on Slughorn's lecture with an admirable intensity, not even seeming to have noticed their fourth table-mate's late arrival.

She heard some rustling beside her, but remained ostensibly focused on Slughorn with a great deal of effort. After a moment, her attention was successfully diverted by a shiny green apple rolling across the table in front of her. She reflexively reached out a hand and grabbed the piece of fruit, shooting Sirius a questioning glance.

Rather than his previous expression of nonchalant insolence, he was the one with his eyes now fixed on Slughorn, a faintly uncomfortable air about him.

"You missed breakfast this morning, yeah? Consider it a peasant's humble offering to a tyrannical princess."

"Tyrannical? Hardly." She scoffed, trying to ignore the strange warmth that was blooming in her chest.

"Well what would _you_ call your insistence on complete and utter silence at library study tables?"

She rolled her eyes. The past few weeks, Sirius had taken to occasionally accompanying Remus when he came to meet her for their nightly study sessions. Lily had also been frequently joining them as of late, and Hermione had been enjoying a burgeoning friendship with the girl, who was whip-smart and refreshingly honest.

Hermione had invited Severus to come on these evenings she knew Lily would be joining her and Remus, but he had flatly refused each time. He seemed unhappy with her growing friendliness towards the Gryffindor, and Hermione had a shrewd ideas as to why this might be. Severus was a jealous person, firstly, and while Hermione was his friend, Lily was the true object of his affections and he did not like sharing her attention with anyone. He likely thought she and Lily would become chums and forget all about him (or some other related fantasy birthed by his tragic inferiority complex). That he was the one willfully excluding _himself_ only added to her exasperation towards the boy.

And secondly, Hermione was certain that her friend had been developing a more complex resentment towards her for quite some time regarding her position within the house hierarchy—and the broader social hierarchy of the wizarding world. This was shown tellingly in the fact Hermione could be friends with people like Lily and Remus—Gryffindors with unimpressive lineage—without suffering many social ramifications. She was a Malfoy, and as such would always command a degree of respect and authority amongst the Slytherins, even if they didn't like her; she knew Severus had always been jealous of her for this, and her friendship with Lily was only prodding at this sore spot. He had been rather short with her lately, and she knew things would eventually come to a head; it was only a matter of when.

Alongside a friendship with Lily, she had been nurturing a tender amicability with Sirius these past few months. Being potions partners meant they were forced to spend at least five hours a week together, and combined with the icebreaker that being kidnapped together by fanatical Death Eaters had been, this had served to thaw things between them considerably. Potter and Pettigrew, taking their cues from Sirius on the matter, had even become tentatively friendly with her, nodding cordially to her when they passed each other in the corridors.

She supposed it helped that it was obvious Lily liked her quite a lot; Potter was still hopelessly besotted with the girl, and although Hermione knew from Old Hermione that they would eventually end up together, it was hard to see the trajectory that would lead to that outcome. Of course, the arrogant Gryffindors had not improved their treatment of Severus in the slightest, and Hermione knew that the removal of their common ground in this matter—and what seemed to be even further evidence of special privileges Hermione had that Severus never would—served to exacerbate the rising tensions between the two Slytherins.

In any case, the specific incident Sirius was referring to had been a night the previous week when he had joined her and Remus in the library, and had begun an animated debate with his friend about various concealment charms one could apply to parchments and papers. Although it had been an interesting conversation, and Hermione had had a shrewd idea as to why the two boys both seemed to know so much about this particular subject, she had been deeply involved in a reading on Fiendfyre containment, and had had to repeatedly glare and hiss and them to quiet down so she could focus.

"I would call it a dedication to academic success." She said primly, and Sirius snorted.

"You can't expect me to believe you were reading something for class? If you actually ever studied you'd be first in our year, easy."

Hermione blinked several times, thrown off-balance. Remus, who she had spent evenings in the library with nearly every night since first year, had never seemed to notice that she didn't do the assigned readings for class; she was always careful about it, and if he had noticed anything he had never commented on it. That Sirius would have made this deduction after only a few evenings spent in her company while she read was disconcerting.

"Of course I study." She said finally, with quiet dignity.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Could have fooled me."

"Hardly a feat."

He merely smirked and shrugged in response, and Hermione huffed with annoyance. Quietly, however, she tucked the apple into her lap under the table, running a finger along the fruit's smooth skin.

* * *

After dinner that evening—a dismal affair wherein Judith had been tired and stressed by an impending essay deadline, Severus had been moody and taciturn, and Regulus had not joined them at all, in favor of eating with his friends in his own year farther down the table—Hermione nipped by her dormitory in order to fetch a glossy Honeydukes bag, before heading several floors up to the Hospital Wing.

The wing was dim and quiet, only three beds filled, and Hermione politely greeted Madam Pomfrey, who was doing paperwork at her desk. The matron pointed distractedly to the bed farthest from the door, under one of the large latticed windows.

Remus was sitting up in bed, a book propped in his lap. He looked considerably better than he usually did after full moons—he still appeared pale and wan, but his injuries looked much less severe than usual—and Hermione attributed this to his friends having accompanied him for the first time for this most recent transformation.

He had looked up, clearly sensing her approach, as soon as she had come in the door, and was smiling at her fondly.

"You don't always have to come visit me, you know. I'm ill so often it's hardly even worth it."

"But if I didn't show up with Honeydukes, without fail, every time you are, do you really expect me to believe you wouldn't be mopey?" Hermione said, perching herself deftly at the foot of his bed and handing him the sweets bag.

"Of course I would be mopey. But I would bear it with the quiet dignity befitting a gentleman." Remus replied, reaching out and grabbing the bag with a distinctly undignified enthusiasm.

Hermione snorted, and withdrew from her book bag a neat stack of parchment.

"Notes from your classes today; they're copies of Lily's." She explained, when Remus, his mouth already full of chocolate, raised an eyebrow at the neat, cramped handwriting, which was nothing like the ornate penmanship he had come to recognize as Hermione's.

"That was nice of her. I'm happy to see you two becoming friends, I've always thought you would get along. It was just hard to imagine you ever having occasion to socialize, given…well…you know."

"Indeed I do." She replied archly, breaking off a bit of chocolate from the bar Remus had started in on.

"And I'm glad Sirius and James have finally let up on you a bit. I don't think I've ever said this but…well, I've always been ashamed of the way I tolerated how they treated you. Of the way I tolerate a lot of the nonsense they get up to, honestly. But it's just…"

"Remus, you don't have to explain, really. I understand. They're your friends just as much as I am; it's a difficult position for you to be in. And I can take care of myself. I'm glad that things are less openly hostile now, obviously, but I was fine before."

"As always, you're too generous with me."

"It ought to balance out, given how hard you are on yourself."

Remus smiled ruefully and there was a moment of comfortable silence before he said,

"By the way, I've been meaning to ask…did something happen this summer? Sirius has hedged around it quite a lot, but I know that _something_ happened at your brother's wedding. He's alluded to 'family stuff' but with Sirius you never get much information where that's concerned."

Hermione sighed expansively, and leaned back.

"I'll make myself comfortable then, because it's quite the story. I'm honestly surprised he didn't tell you lot; it seems too good an opportunity to look cool for him to pass up."

About an hour later, after she had told Remus most of what had happened at Lucius and Narcissa's wedding, and they had discussed (though not in much depth, she had been careful of that) the situation with her family and Voldemort, Hermione had bid her friend farewell.

She turned to quietly shut one of the heavy doors to the Hospital Wing behind her, and when she turned around, Hermione couldn't help but gasp at the sudden appearance of the figure of Albus Dumbledore.

Since starting at Hogwarts, she had obviously seen the headmaster from afar on plenty of occasions. But this was the first time she had ever run into him alone, and she couldn't help but feel anxious at being in his presence, especially given everything Old Hermione had to say about him—both bad and good.

"Good evening, Miss Malfoy. I apologize for startling you, I ought to have announced myself; I'm afraid neglecting to do so is a bad habit of mine."

The tall man was clad in immense robes of dark yellow velvet, a shifting, rippling pattern of bronze fall leaves swirling about the hem. She deliberately avoided making direct contact with his piercing blue eyes, despite the friendly twinkle in them. Ursula had trained her well from a young age, and she was a highly accomplished oclumens. But she was certainly not confident in her abilities in the face of a wizard like the headmaster.

 _Be wary of him. He is good and kind, but also unpredictable. We can't reveal our hand at the wrong time._ The voice of Old Hermione, which seemed to be interjecting less frequently as of late, whispered quietly in the back of her mind.

"Please Headmaster, don't apologize, it's nothing." She demurred, silently acknowledging her counterpart's warning.

"Visiting young Mr. Lupin, I assume? I was just on my way to do the same."

Hermione didn't even feel surprised that he seemed to know she had a habit of visiting Remus every month; she would assume he would make it his business know these sorts of things, given Remus's delicate and tenuous circumstances.

"Of course, I visit Remus whenever he's ill. It helps his spirits to have company, I think."

"Friendship is, I have found, often the most potent medicine for any illness."

Hermione couldn't help but look up briefly then, searching his face for any clues as to what exactly he might be implying. But the Headmaster's smiling expression was unreadable, and she quickly looked back down.

"It certainly helps him feel better having someone to talk to, I'm sure."

"Undoubtedly. I am sure he appreciates your visits very much."

Thinking this was a natural end to the conversation, Hermione smiled and nodded to the Professor, saying something about having to get back to her dormitory. She was halted in her tracks a mere few steps later, however, as the elderly man said,

"If you should ever need someone to talk to yourself, Miss Malfoy, I hope that you will find my door is always open. So long as you can get past the gargoyles, of course, but they're not so bad; cheerful fellows, really, once you get to know them. Perhaps you can bring along some of that marvelous Honeydukes' best you are always treating the fortunate Mr. Lupin to."

That unreadable smile was still on his face, and Hermione could think of no response other than to nod and tentatively thank him for his consideration. She headed back to the dungeons feeling thoroughly unnerved.

* * *

When she arrived back to the common room, it was relatively full with students lounging around socializing after dinner or working on homework, and there was a low buzz of chatter. She exchanged polite greetings with a few people, and was about to head up to her bedroom to have another look at Narcissa's letters, when a familiar vice grip closed about her upper arm.

"I need to talk to you."

Fixing Severus with a very severe look, she glanced down pointedly at her arm.

"And how, precisely, does this compulsion to speak to me necessitate manhandling?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I know you walk on air and all; I never meant to offend your delicate sensibilities." He snapped.

Hermione frowned. Severus was in an unusually foul mood, it seemed. But a more probing glance at his features revealed an expression that she found quite baffling; rather than the acute annoyance she had been expecting to find there, there was a strange, almost feverish glaze to his eyes, and spots of red stood out on his pale cheeks. He was clearly agitated about something, but there was an odd excitement to him, an explosive energy in his jerky movements as he gestured to the common room door, clearly wanting her to accompany him out into the corridor.

She acquiesced, not liking how snappish he was being with her but burning with curiosity nonetheless. He pulled her into a nook behind a statue of a goblin several hundred feet from the door to the common room. The nook was well-established amongst the Slytherin students as a place for clandestine conversations, and it was generally considered good form to afford people their privacy when they went there to speak in confidence. As much as eavesdropping to gain the upper hand was hardly something beneath most of her housemates, there was a healthy respect for privacy and the need for confidential conversations amongst the well-bred students of Slytherin house, and so the nook was usually a safe place to speak. Severus, always suspicious no matter what, was in the midst of developing an anti-eavesdropping spell that Old Hermione had informed her would likely end up being _muffliato_ , but it wasn't reliably effective yet; he still had some tweaking to do, and so the unspoken respect for the privacy of the nook would have to do.

"I've figured it out." He declared, a strange triumph in his eyes.

Hermione felt a foreboding feeling begin to gather in her stomach, but maintained a calm expression. She cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh? The cure to Dragon Pox? The meaning of life? It must be something along those lines; I don't think I've ever seen this much life in your eyes, Severus."

The boy jerkily waved his hand, as though physically batting away her attempts at lightheartedness.

"Lupin, Hermione, I've figure out what's wrong with him. I've always said there's something off about him, you know I've always said that; Potter, Black, Pettigrew, they all know about it, obviously, they're all in cahoots to help him hide it."

She might have made a pithy remark about his use of the word 'cahoots', had the foreboding feeling in her stomach not turned into a tight stone of dread. She opened her mouth, wanting to stop him, but Severus was plowing on, the color rising in his cheeks.

"We could get them expelled for this, Hermione, all of them. Because they're hiding the fact that Lupin is a _werewolf_." He hissed out the word with a sadistic satisfaction, and Hermione couldn't help but wince.

"Think about it, he's ill too often for it to be normal; I've been tracking the days he takes leave from classes all term, either because he's 'ill' or because his mother is. They all coincide with the monthly full moons."

"Severus—"

"Dumbledore must know, there's no way they could hide it from _him_ , but for some reason he's all right with it. Maybe Black or Potter's family paid him off? They have the galleons for it, those filthy rich blighters."

"Severus—"

"We'll have to take it to the Board of Governors, I suppose. But even then, I want to be certain that—"

" _Severus_."

When Hermione spoke, she did so with every ounce of cold command she could muster. Severus blinked, looking momentarily taken aback.

"I know about Remus's condition."

He stared, mouth agape. She had never seen him look so off-balance, and the expression on his usually dour and tightly-drawn face made him look years younger, like a confused little boy.

"You…you know? He's told you?" He sputtered finally.

"No, of course he hasn't told me." She sniffed. "But what sort of idiot do you take me for? We've been friends since practically the first day of first year. You really think I wouldn't have noticed by now that his absences just _so happen_ to coincide with every full moon? It's honestly shocking more people haven't figured it out yet. Although I suppose it would take a rather unusual degree of obsession to go to the trouble."

She fixed him with a pointed look, but he still appeared too aghast to register anything but shock.

"But you still associate with him?" He sounded appalled. "He's a dangerous beast, Hermione. Do you even know the statistics on how many people are mauled or killed by werewolves every year in Great Britain alone? It's—"

"A gross misrepresentation and appropriation of statistics." She responded coolly. "What they won't include along with those attack figures is that nearly 95% of attacks are perpetrated by approximately 2% of werewolves. The vast majority of werewolves are perfectly harmless, having taken appropriate measures to safely quarantine themselves during transformations. It's the behavior of a relatively insignificant percentage of the overall population that is used as a tool of oppression against the whole lot of them. It's disgusting, really, and I'd expect better of you, Severus, than to so easily buy into such evident propaganda."

Her friend's face and neck had grown splotchy with growing rage, and his eyes glittered like beetle carapaces in the dim torchlight.

"I can't believe you're taking his side. _Their_ side." He hissed.

"I'm taking the right side." She said firmly. "Werewolves are just ordinary people with an illness, and deserve to be treated as such. And Remus has never been anything but kind and good to me, as I have told you on many occasions, should you have cared to listen."

"What about every time he's stood aside and watched Potter and Black treat you like rubbish? Or when he's turned the other way when they torment our housemates in the corridors? He's practically as bad as they are. I suppose all's forgiven now that Black wants to get in your pants and has started making nice, hm?" He had grown spiteful towards the end, and Hermione only with great effort pushed down the spark of anger this inspired in her.

"I'd think that you, of all people, would understand what it's like to be looked down on and treated poorly your whole life for something over which you have no control, Severus." She said quietly.

The boy drew back as though he'd been burned. For all that they had been close friends for nearly three years now, it was rare for Hermione and Severus to discuss issues of any real emotional significance. Severus was the most closed-off, hard-shelled individual she had ever met—Old Hermione agreed that he was even worse than Harry in this regard—and though she could clearly see the ripples and undercurrents of his many pains and insecurities (aided in part by her counterpart's knowledge) she had never addressed any of these directly.

"Do you really think that Remus, who has spent his entire life feeling worthless and hating his very existence for something that happened to him when he was just a child, would have the confidence to stand up to people like Potter and Black? Not only are they everything he isn't—confident, rich, popular—but they're the first real friends he's ever had, the first people he's ever really felt _chose_ him and accepted him for who he is. The courage it would take to be willing to risk losing that is unimaginable."

The color had faded from Severus's face, and he looked far calmer now. But there was a new, almost more frightening coldness in his eyes, and it was evident in his voice when he spoke.

"As if you would know anything about what it's like to be looked down on, _Miss Malfoy_."

He swept off in a flurry of robes, and Hermione felt a painful hollowness in her chest. A few moments later, she turned on her heel and headed mechanically up the stairs, to where she was supposed to meet Rabastan for their rounds starting at ten. Severus might be furious with her, but she was fairly confident he would keep his new discovery to himself. He might not like her very much at the moment, but she was still certain she could trust him.

The corridor outside the Slytherin common room remained deserted for several minutes following the two housemates' departure. The torches flickered dully against the walls, and there was no movement apart from the occasional fidgeting of the woman in the portrait across from the goblin statue. After several minutes had passed, however, there was a heavy exhalation of breath, and a figure slid out from behind a voluminous embroidered tapestry several feet down the wall from the portrait.

Quivering with excitement, her breath coming in short gasps from a combination of released tension and barely contained glee, Dahlia dashed off down the corridor in the direction of the owlrey

* * *

When Hermione reached the entry hall, Rabastan was already there leaning against the banister at the foot of the great spiral staircase. He looked as though he had been there for several minutes already, and Hermione murmured a hasty apology.

"Please, don't trouble yourself." He demurred. "It's my privilege to be kept waiting by such a lovely witch."

Hermione gave him a wry look, and he smiled winningly in response. In the course of their weekly rounds that term, Rabastan had taken to flirting with her rather outrageously. It was never anything truly inappropriate—he was, of course, still a well-bred gentle-wizard—and Hermione found it decidedly amusing that the brother-in-law of her deranged kidnapper was attempting to be suave with her. She wondered if he knew about the whole business that had occurred that summer. She assumed he must, which only made the situation more comical.

"What's got you looking so serious?" He inquired amiably, as they ascended the staircase to the first landing to begin their rounds

"Do I look any more serious that usual?"

"While I'll admit that I do have to expend considerable effort every Monday night to put a smile on your face, I'm getting the sense that all my efforts may be in vain this particular evening."

His resemblance to his brother, while somewhat tenuous, was still slightly off-putting. But when he had that playful smile on his face, the resemblance was lessened and she could very nearly ignore it. She treated him to a half-smile of her own in response.

"Your sense is likely correct. I'm fine, really. Just having some trouble with a friend."

"Ah. Is it that Snape fellow I always see you with?"

"How ever did you guess?" Hermione asked dryly, and Rabastan laughed.

"A spell in the dark, I suppose."

Severus's reputation as acidic and combative was well-known within the house. It was how he had established respect for himself amongst his housemates, and while they did indeed respect him (and his duelling abilities), he was not by any means well-liked.

"I was beginning to wonder if you two were involved. Not a lovers' spat, I hope?"

Hermione couldn't help but outright laugh at this.

"No. Indeed not."

"I didn't really think so, of course. I was mostly just hoping you would say whether you _are_ involved with anyone at all." He admitted, looking at her slyly out of the corner of his eye as they rounded a bend and entered a slightly dimmer area of the first floor consisting mostly of classrooms.

"And why would you be wondering that, Mr. Lestrange?" She inquired archly, crossing to the first classroom and briefly peaking inside to verify that it was empty.

He did the same on the other side of the corridor, and they joined once again in the middle a moment later.

"Well, Slughorn has that annual Christmas party of his coming up, and if I must be forced to attend for the fourth and final time in my Hogwarts career, I figured it would be made more tolerable by your presence."

"Well I'll certainly be present. Professor Slughorn is very insistent with his invitations."

"Ah, perhaps I ought to make it more clear then." He raised an eyebrow at her and she raised one back, maintaining her expression of feigned innocence. "Would you like to be my date to the party?"

Hermione tugged open the door of the second classroom and perfunctorily glanced inside, using the pause as a moment to briefly reflect. There was really no reason to say no, and in the back of her mind, Old Hermione was murmuring that it could only be useful to have a rapport with someone who would, in the future, have access to the Lestranges' vault—and everything that lay within.

"Yes, I suppose that would be, as you put it, 'tolerable'."

She tried not to pretend like she had any thoughts whatsoever of what it might have been like if someone else—someone very similar in some ways yet drastically different in others to Rabastan Lestrange—had asked her to Slughorn's party.


	10. A Snake in the Inner Sanctum

Chapter Ten

A Snake in the Inner Sanctum

November, 1975

The morning of the first quidditch match of the season was a gray and blustery one. Restless winds howled across the castle grounds, and the slate-colored sky threatened rain. Hermione would have much rather remained inside with her letters from Narcissa and scrolls on Fiendfyre containment, but Judith wasn't having it.

"It's Regulus's first match - we have to go. He could use our support."

Hermione glanced skeptically down the Slytherin table, to where the boy in question was seated at the center of a cluster of third-year girls, all of whom seemed quite enraptured by whatever he was saying. As she watched, she could swear she saw his chest - clad in green and silver quidditch robes - puff out an inch or two.

"Yes, he looks positively wracked with nerves." She said drily, even as the shrill tittering of two of the girls reached their ears.

Judith flushed slightly, and glumly stirred her porridge. Seeing the girl's obvious low spirits, Hermione's resolve quickly crumbled.

"But you're right, we really ought to go. To be polite if nothing else."

Judith glanced up from her bowl, the dimple in her left cheek appearing as she smiled slightly.

"You don't suppose we could convince Severus to come? Or are you two still fighting?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and nibbled at a strip of bacon to buy a moment of thought. Severus had been skittish and standoffish since their confrontation a few days previously. He had been avoiding mealtimes and studying alone, and the only times she had seen him at all had been during classes - where he had taken to sitting next to Travers and Avery rather than with her and Judith.

"We're not _fighting_ \- it's not ongoing. We simply had a disagreement."

"And you still won't say what about."

"It's not my place to say."

"You're so secretive sometimes, Hermione. I hope you realize you can trust me with anything - you're my best friend."

Hermione felt something clench very deep within her. The smile she treated Judith to was one tinged with sadness, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by the dark-eyed girl.

"You're my best friend, too, Judith. But there will always be certain things we can't talk about. My family…"

"I understand; blood first, and all that. My family is that way too, you know, all the old ones are. But you should also know that I would do anything for you, keep any secret. You can always count on me."

Hermione reached across the table and squeezed Judith's hand. She was about to speak, when the tender moment was rudely interrupted by the arrival of their resident quidditch star. Regulus plunked himself down onto the bench beside her, jostling the girls slightly and knocking a greasy butter knife off the edge of the table.

"My goodness, if you're this ungainly at the breakfast table I shudder to think how the match is going to go." Hermione said dryly, reaching down to pick up the knife.

"I should think the addition of a broom will help somewhat." Regulus said, helping himself to the remainders of her bacon strips.

Hermione eyed him critically even as Judith quickly engaged him in animated conversation about the strategies the Slytherin chasers would be employing during the match. The girl had been blushing and stuttering around Regulus more than ever as of late, but the topic of quidditch seemed to lend her new confidence.

Regulus might be swaggering about with bravado to rival his older brother's, but Hermione noted the tell-tale signs of nerves in her friend; he kept reaching up to finger the ends of his neatly-combed hair, and his quidditch robes were creased from repeated readjustments. The boy might be growing into himself quite spectacularly - he nearly had a reputation to rival his brother's these days - but the old insecure ten-year-old she had been introduced to on Yule all those years ago still occasionally shone through.

"Lestrange reckons the Gryffindors don't stand a chance, what with the Prewett twins graduated and all, but their new beaters are damn good. Longbottom has a strong arm, and then of course there's my bloody brother." Regulus was saying, running a hand through his hair.

"Quit grooming yourself; you're being obvious." Hermione said wryly, and the boy fixed her with a gimlet eye.

"Not to anyone who isn't constantly searching for signs of weakness in everyone they interact with." He said, with more than a touch of annoyed exasperation.

"And you think the Gryffindor seeker won't be searching for signs of weakness in you?" Hermione scoffed. "Tighten up, Black."

He gave her an irritable look, but nonetheless lowered his hands from his hair and laced them calmly across the breakfast table.

"I thought you didn't care about the outcomes of quidditch matches, anyway - beneath your interest and all that." He said.

"I don't. But I would be rather put out if Frank Longbottom concusses you senseless and I don't have anyone to play chess with anymore."

"Never fear, Miss Malfoy, I have no intention of allowing our seeker to sustain any head injuries - your chess partner will be quite safe."

The tall figure of Rabastan Lestrange had appeared behind Judith, who squeaked in alarm at the sudden close proximity of the Slytherin quidditch captain's voice.

"Down to the pitch with the rest of the team, Black; we're forty minutes out."

Regulus scrambled to his feet, and Hermione stifled a snort as she caught the butter knife which he had once again launched off the edge of the table. Covertly replacing the knife next to her plate, she smiled up at Rabastan.

"Good luck, Mr. Lestrange; I do hope you'll keep your promise, or else my evenings in the Common Room will suddenly be very dull."

"Black here really isn't half-bad on a broom, you know; I'm sure he'll be alright. And if not, I can assure you that I would be happy to stand in as a chess partner any evening you'd like - whether or not Black manages to avoid the bludgers today."

"Oi, Lestrange, stop talking like I'm not here. Especially when you're flirting with my friends." Regulus protested indignantly.

"Don't be melodramatic, Black; I'm hardly flirting with your friend _s_. Just the one."

Smiling winningly, Rabastan pulled on his Keeper's gloves and gestured to Regulus. The two boys swept out of the hall closely behind the rest of the Slytherin team, who had all quietly risen from their places along the breakfast table minutes earlier.

The Gryffindor team made no such subdued exit; moments following the Slytherins' departure, a cacophony of cheers and banging against the table sounded from across the hall, and Hermione observed exasperatedly as James and Sirius preened alongside their teammates.

Pettigrew was seated nearby, grinning up at his friends with undisguised adoration, but as Hermione scanned the entirety of the Gryffindor table, she failed to catch sight of Remus. A strange feeling of dread began to take root within her breast; she had no reason to jump to conclusions, the boy could have very well slept in or decided to spend the afternoon in the library, but she doubted it. He was an avid quidditch fan, and not one to miss his friends' games.

"Have you happened to see Remus all morning, Judith?" She asked distractedly, still staring across the hall.

"No, I haven't…he's not at the Gryffindor table?" The girl replied, twisting in her seat to look.

"No, it doesn't look like it."

"Well maybe he's ill…he has poor health, doesn't he?"

"Yes…"

Frowning, Hermione took a sip of pumpkin juice in an attempt to disguise the anxiety that she worried might be showing on her features. Evidently she was doing a good enough job at disguising her concern that Judith didn't notice; after a moment the dark-eyed girl turned back around in her seat and fixed her friend with a sly smile.

"Rabastan Lestrange certainly isn't taking any pains to disguise his interest in you."

"Oh. That. Yes, he asked me Slughorn's Christmas party on our rounds the other night."

" _What?_ Hermione, I can't believe you didn't tell me! Come on, that's just cruel."

"It had slipped my mind, to be perfectly honest." The girl replied, still preoccupied by her search for Remus amongst the crowd of rowdy students in red and gold across the hall.

"How does it slip your mind when one of the best-looking blokes in school - who happens to be quidditch captain _and_ a prefect, not to mention a Lestrange - asks you out?"

"I don't know, Judith, I'm really not particularly interested in anything of that nature right now. I have far more important things to be focusing on."

"What exactly is monopolizing your attention so terribly that you can't even tear yourself away to go on a date with the embodiment of 'tall, dark and handsome'?"

"Schoolwork." Hermione said firmly, smiling guilelessly when Judith rolled her eyes and huffed in obvious disbelief. "And besides, I did say yes."

"I can't believe you led me on like that; you really are evil."

"Don't be melodramatic, Judy. Anyway, you're so quick to criticize me, but I notice you haven't issued a peep about your own embodiment of 'tall, dark and handsome'."

Judith blushed effusively.

"Circe, I can't believe you still blush like that! I thought you'd have outgrown it by now."

"You and me both; I've been researching cosmetic charms the past few months to help hide it. It's ridiculous, everyone and their mother can tell what I'm thinking at any given moment." The girl murmured, stirring her half-finished porridge even as her cheeks remained the color of rose petals.

"Don't be evasive, Judith; when are you finally going to tell Regulus how you feel?"

Expecting another sidestep, Hermione was surprised when her friend sighed and said,

"I don't know, Hermione. Maybe never. What with the troubles my father has been having with the business - we were raided again last week, you must have seen it in the Prophet - and my mother having married in from outside the twenty-eight…well. I'm not a good match for him. I know talking about marriage seems ridiculous, but you understand how it is - it's not worth getting my hopes up with a Black, it's as simple as that."

"Regulus cares very deeply for his family, but he also has a mind of his own, as you're well aware - he's grown so much more confident and independently thoughtful these past few years. I don't think he'd be willing to let his mother, tyrannical as she is, dictate who he marries."

"Even if he were to defy his family, which I don't think he'd be so willing to do as you seem to believe, it's not as if he'd ever look _my_ way. I mean, did you see Cedrella Greengrass hanging off of him just now? I don't stand a chance against…against girls like her."

Judith seemed to grow more despondent with every word, and Hermione frowned.

"First of all, Cedrella Greengrass is an utter muppet; she couldn't find her way to the library if someone drew her a carefully labelled map. You're lovely, Judith - really, you are, you know I'm not one to pay empty compliments - and what's more you've actually been inside a library before."

This squeezed a small smile out of the girl.

"Should we head down to the pitch? If I'm being forced to attend, I may as well be able to see."

Judith nodded, and the two girls exited the Great Hall. Judith quickly excused herself to use the loo, and Hermione found herself waiting in the Entrance Hall as a steadily widening stream of chattering students poured out in the direction of the pitch.

There was a sudden uptick in the noise, and Hermione was unsurprised to see the Gryffindor team striding out of the Great Hall surrounded by students all decked out in their house colors. As she caught sight of Sirius amidst his teammates, and they made brief eye contact across the hall, she was struck by a sudden thought. Maintaining the eye contact, she gestured for Sirius to come over. Raising an eyebrow, he leaned over to say something to Potter, who glanced over at Hermione and then shrugged, quickly returning to the important task of basking in the limelight.

Sirius, his beater's armguards already strapped on, loped over to join her by the wall, and Hermione ignored the hostile looks she received from several Gryffindor girls. Lily, who was trailing along beside several of these girls at the end of the train of Gryffindors and appeared less than enthused to be headed to the match, managed to catch her eye and wave. Hermione returned the greeting, but quickly turned her attention to Sirius.

"Hello, princess. Making sure your loyal servant gets a good luck kiss before the match?"

He waggled his eyebrows at her and she raised one of her own in response.

"Why would I wish you luck against my own house? If I were to give anyone a good luck kiss it would be your brother."

He scoffed.

"As if a good luck kiss is going to keep me from knocking that pasty git off his broom."

"We'll see. Word is Gryffindor doesn't stand a chance with the Prewett twins graduated."

Sirius gave her a slightly sour look.

"Did you call me over just to decimate my confidence ahead of the game? There's got to be some rule against pre-match psychological warfare."

"There certainly isn't - all's fair in love and quidditch as they say. But no, I was wondering if you had seen Remus at all today. Doesn't he usually go to all the games?"

He frowned, his expression suddenly serious.

"No. He was gone from his bed this morning by the time we woke up - and James and I had to be up at six for morning warmup."

Her anxiety returned in earnest, and suddenly she had a terrible thought.

"Sirius, I need to find Severus. Now."

Evidently seeing something in her eyes that indicated the gravity of the situation, he nodded curtly and drew her by the arm towards a corridor that she knew led to a shortcut in the direction of the Gryffindor common room.

"If that greasy wanker has done anything to Remus, I swear to Merlin…" He was muttering as he led her up a tightly-spiraling staircase towards Gryffindor Tower.

"I don't think he would, Sirius, I really don't, I just…it's possible he could have done something, said something to the wrong person, and I can't help but worry about Remus."

Sirius suddenly paused on the staircase, and Hermione bumped into his crimson-clad back. He turned around to face her with narrowed eyes, and she suddenly became hyper-aware of the stone walls pressing in so closely on either side of them and how much he positively towered over her with the addition of a single step. He stared down at her searchingly for several long moments, his expression guarded.

"Do you know?"

She sighed.

"Of course I know, Sirius. It's obvious, after being friends with him for so long; I don't know who he thinks he could possibly fool, and I don't know what Dumbledore is thinking either. It's quite evident to anyone who spends any amount of time with him."

"And you told Snape?" His eyes were like thunderclouds looming above.

"Of course not! He figured it out on his own, like I said it's painfully obvious to anyone who thinks to look a bit closer. We rowed about it a few nights ago, and like I said, I don't think he would have said anything! But with the timing, it's just too much of a coincidence…"

Without another word, Sirius turned on his heel and bounded up the stairs, Hermione hot on his heels. By the time they reached the tower she had a stitch in her side, and was barely able to keep a handle on the flood of Old Hermione's memories that rose up before her eyes at the sight of the Fat Lady's portrait.

"I somehow sincerely doubt that we're going to find Severus in the Gryffindor common room." Hermione said.

Sirius shook his head.

"I have…something…that will help us find him. And Remus, for that matter, if he's in the castle."

"Oh?" She tried to sound surprised and intrigued, even as Old Hermione offered an image of an old, yellowing piece of parchment.

"Come on, no one will be in the common room with the match twenty minutes away. Wendell the Weird."

They had drawn up before the Fat Lady, who was staring down at Sirius very disapprovingly despite him having uttered what Hermione assumed was the correct password.

"No non-Gryffindor students are allowed inside the Common Room, as I am sure you are _well_ aware Mr. Black. I shall have to report this to Minerva."

"Go right ahead, I've been in hot water with Minnie for far worse." Sirius said dismissively.

"That attitude of yours will be your undoing one day, Mr. Black." The portrait sniffed, before swinging open in what Hermione fancied was a reluctant fashion.

"Be prepared to duck if we run into anyone." He said, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her into the Common Room.

It was just as it had been in Old Hermione's memories; crimson hangings decorated every wall, and squashy armchairs and couches were gathered companionably about a crackling fire. As Hermione stared, she could swear she saw the ghostly outlines of a boy with unruly dark hair and a tall, gangly redhead seated in armchairs laughing merrily over a game of exploding snap. She blinked and the ghostly images vanished. She hated when Old Hermione's memories did that, became so visceral that they actually projected themselves. It only happened occasionally, but when it did it left her feeling shaken and unsure what was real and what was not.

She was shaken out of her brief stupor by Sirius pulling her up a staircase leading to the boys' dormitory. The fifth-years' room, which was one of the last doors on the left, was as disorganized and messy as she would have expected. One corner of the room, which contained the bed closest to the window, was cleaner than the rest.

"Remus's bed?" She inquired, gesturing to the bed by the window.

"How ever did you guess?" He replied wryly, crossing to the opposite end of the room and rifling through the trunk at the base of the bed.

After a moment he produced an eerily familiar scrap of yellowing parchment.

"I can't believe I've admitted a snake into the inner sanctum, and I can't believe I'm about to do this in front of you, but desperate times…" Sirius muttered, before tapping the parchment with his wand and muttering, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

Hermione moved to peer over his shoulder, and watched as spidering lines of ink bloomed across the parchment, revealing an intricate map of Hogwarts Caste.

"Amazing." She murmured.

Sirius glanced over his shoulder, and she fell back from her tippy toes - which she had unconsciously risen onto in order to see properly - and blushed slightly at their close proximity. He smirked and said,

"If you think that's amazing, check this out."

He gestured to the tiny footsteps, headed with names, which were appearing all over the map. A vast number, all overlapping and shifting over one another, were clustered down at the quidditch pitch. Pointing to the corner of the map which detailed Gryffindor tower, he allowed his finger to fall upon the only footsteps visible in the entire tower, which were facing one another and labelled 'Sirius Black' and 'Hermione Malfoy', respectively.

"I'll look for Severus, you keep an eye out for Remus." She instructed, and he nodded.

Because the castle proper was so relatively empty, it took only a few minutes for her to locate a set of footsteps labelled 'Severus Snape' in the library. She was about to say something, when another set of footsteps passing by the library surprised her so much that she actually exclaimed aloud.

"Lucius Malfoy?" She muttered in confusion.

"That wanker? What the hell is _he_ doing here?"

Ignoring the evident dislike in Sirius's voice, she traced her brother's progress through the castle. He appeared to be headed for the Headmaster's office, and as she watched, he converged with a group of people whose names, after a moment of thought, she managed to place.

"The entire Board of Governors is here." She murmured. "My father is a member…perhaps my brother is here in his place?"

"Look! Remus is in Dumbledore's office." Sirius said, pointing.

Indeed, a set of footsteps labelled 'Remus Lupin' stood several feet from 'Albus Dumbledore' and 'Minerva McGonagall' within the headmaster's office.

Hermione jumped as, quite suddenly, the muffled voice of James Potter sounded in the room.

"Sirius! Where the hell are you? I swear to Merlin, if you miss this match because you're off snogging Malfoy, I'm going to drown you in the lake."

Sirius, obviously startled as well, reached into the pocket of his quidditch robes and withdrew a mirror that sent an uncanny pang of familiarity through Hermione.

"James, listen, it's about Remus - "

"I don't _care_ what it's about, the match starts in ten minutes and I am _not_ forfeiting to that git Lestrange. Get your arse down here."

Sirius looked conflicted, glancing back and forth between the mirror and Hermione.

"Go. I can handle this."

"You can't be serious; if the Board is meeting, that means - "

"Just go, Sirius. I can deal with it."

He still looked uncertain, so she grabbed his hand and squeezed reassuringly.

"I promise. Remus is my friend; I always take care of my friends."

He nodded hesitantly, looking at her searchingly. For a moment they stood there in absolute silence, and the distant, dull roar from the quidditch pitch reached their ears. She was hyper aware of her hand in his, and it seemed he was too, as he moved to briefly interlace their fingers. She felt her heart stutter slightly, and was embarrassed by how hot her face had grown

"Don't let Remus down, Hermione."

It was the first time he had called her by her name, and despite herself, she felt something within her thaw slightly. Releasing her hand, he turned on his heel and pounded down the stairs. He was out of the Common Room in mere moments, leaving Hermione alone with the map. She watched as his footsteps sped through the halls and through a passage hidden behind a suit of armor on the 6th floor that she hadn't even known was there.

Tearing her eyes away from the footsteps labelled 'Sirius Black,' she watched as the Board of Governors slowly advanced towards the headmaster's office. Moving quickly, she tapped the map with her wand.

"Mischief managed."

Tucking it into her bag, she was about to exit the boys' dormitory when a silvery glimmer from within the trunk - that Sirius had left wide open - caught her eye. Moving closer, she gasped slightly and bent over, running her hands along the liquid folds of a garment that she had never touched in this lifetime but was intimately familiar to her nonetheless.

She had assumed the bed and trunk belonged to Sirius, but a quick glance at the bedside table revealed a smiling photograph of a slightly younger James Potter in between a smiling pair of silver-haired people who must have been his parents.

Feeling a twinge of guilt, she recalled Sirius's comment about having "admitted a snake into the inner sanctum." But reassuring herself that she needed it to help Remus and would return it as soon as she could, she grabbed the cloak and closed the trunk with a snap.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was not pleased. This was not an unusual state for him these days, as mounting political pressure from the Ministry and the Dark Lord alike ensured that Lucius constantly had to be on his guard and working to protect his family's interests. Working as the Dark Lord's errand boy - for that's what he was in these first months of his official 'allegiance' to the man, as he strove to 'prove himself' - made him very sour indeed, and the company of his fellow Death Eaters was hardly a respite. He had been spending a good deal more time than he would like with his sister-in-law, Bellatrix, and her insane fanaticism was beginning to grate at him more than he would like to admit. He and his father had agreed, after his sister's kidnapping that summer, that there was no feasible way to continue resisting the Dark Lord's advances without unacceptably compromising Hermione's safety. But they were still Malfoys, and Malfoys were not content to be anyone's obedient followers.

It finally seemed, however, that after months of hard work, he was beginning to earn the Dark Lord's confidence. He thought back to their meeting the previous evening at a safehouse outside of Manchester, where he had been entrusted to guard something very important to his 'master'.

 _Lucius entered the dimly-lit townhouse, shutting the door behind him with a muted snap. That dunce Carrow had been guarding the door outside, and he had brushed aside the man's attempts at smalltalk with a contemptuous sneer._

 _The Dark Lord was seated in a richly-upholstered armchair near the grate, which was crackling with dark green flames. Lucius had been surprised upon his initial meeting with the man; he wasn't sure what he had been expecting of the Lord Voldemort, but it was not the slender and darkly handsome man who sat in the armchair by the fire. The Dark Lord, despite his appearance, however, had a chillingly commanding presence when he spoke that made even Lucius - who had always prided himself on his implacability and cool temperament - feel pinned to the spot._

 _"Ah, Lucius. Please, sit." Voldemort gestured to the armchair next to him with an elegant, long-fingered hand._

 _"Thank you, my lord."_

 _"Tea? Or something stronger?"_

 _"No thank you, my lord."_

 _"Get out." He waved a dismissive hand at a young woman cowering in the corner, who looked at Lucius with fear-filled eyes for a split moment before scuttling away, shutting the door behind herself. The Dark Lord's chuckle sounded through the room._

 _"Pathetic things, half-bloods. Barely worthy to serve us, wouldn't you say, Lucius?"_

 _"There is a reason we have house elves, my lord."_

 _Voldemort laughed again._

 _"You always delight me with your wit, Lucius. It's sorely lacking in many of your comrades, as I'm sure you have noticed."_

 _"I had observed something to that effect, I will admit."_

 _"Indeed. Brute labor certainly has its uses. But you, Lucius, you are different; that much was clear to me from the day you joined the ranks of my followers. And it is why I am entrusting you with something. Something that is very valuable to me, that I would only give to my most trusted followers. I do hope you understand and appreciate the significance of this, my dear Lucius."_

 _The weight of the Dark Lord's gaze bore down on Lucius like a physical force, and he felt beads of sweat spring to life beneath his robes. He could feel the touch of the other man's mind upon his own, and stiffening slightly, allowed the Dark Lord into the first layer or two of his mind._

 _Lucius had been working ceaselessly for years now to truly master legilimancy. It was one thing to keep your mind protected, but it was another entirely to fool someone into believing they had penetrated your mind while still protecting your innermost thoughts._

 _After a long moment of silence, the Dark Lord sat back in his armchair, lacing his hands over his lap and smiling in a satisfied fashion. It was only a lifetime of conditioning that kept the relief off of Lucius's smoothly indifferent features._

 _"I am honored that you trust me so, my lord."_

 _From within the folds of his robes, the Dark Lord withdrew a rectangular package wrapped in dark velvet. He handed it to Lucius, who immediately was overtaken with a strange, alien coldness that he had never before felt. Eager to rid himself of the feeling, he had tucked the package - which he could clearly feel was a book of some kind - into his robes. The strange feeling receded somewhat, but he still felt a whisper of the hair-raising sensation._

 _"It shall be safe with me, my lord, you have my word."_

 _"Do not disappoint me, Lucius."_

As he had been leaving the house in Manchester, feeling deeply unsettled, he had received an owl from Abraxas. His father, who was in fact currently meeting with the Minister, had received a summons for an emergency meeting of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, and had owled Lucius 'requesting' (the man snorted at the notion that he had any choice in the matter) that he go to Scotland in his place.

And so here he found himself, wedged in the corridor outside the headmaster's office between Elphias Doge and Marius Abbot, with the Dark Lord's mysterious and unsettling package tucked away in his robes.

No doubt the Dark Lord thought that the show of favoritism would bind the Malfoys more securely to him - it was a wily political move, Lucius thought admiringly, and would have been quite effective had it not been for a disastrous miscalculation the Dark Lord had made from the very beginning. He seemed to have been under the grossly mistaken impression that Lucius and Abraxas would ever be content not to destroy someone who had threatened Hermione.

Lucius was disturbed from his musings by the sound of the staircase to the headmaster's office grinding open. The gargoyles had hopped aside, and moments later the statuesque figure of Albus Dumbledore appeared, flanked by Minerva McGonagall.

"Please, gentlewizards and ladies, come in. We have grave matters to discuss." The headmaster said.

"That we do, Dumbledore!" Squeaked Ophelia Selwyn, an ancient and wizened old woman in very old-fashioned velvet robes. "A werewolf, at Hogwarts! Of all things."

Dumbledore smiled at the woman, the expression revealing nothing, and gestured for the governors to follow him up the stairs into his office. Lucius followed closely behind Ophelia, who was muttering angrily to herself, and as the gargoyles hopped back into place, he could swear he caught a sudden whiff of the oddly familiar scent of gardenias. Frowning slightly, Lucius shook his head and proceeded into the headmaster's office, stifling a sigh at the thought of the long day of bureaucratic nonsense ahead of him.

* * *

 **AN: I very much appreciate that some of my readers are so invested in this story that they are willing to enthusiastically harass me to update! Haha. Please know that I am writing and updating as quickly as possible, but I do have lots of other responsibilities-no matter how much you beg me to update, I unfortunately cannot ignore other aspects of my life, such as earning my BA, just to write fanfiction (hahah wow I wish). I have no plans to abandon this story (I have the whole thing pretty much mapped out, I already know the various arcs and how I want it to end) so rest assured that even if a bit of time passes between updates, they are coming! Let me know what you think in a review! xoxo**


	11. A Malfoy's Honor

Chapter Eleven

A Malfoy's Honor

November, 1975

Hermione had never been inside the headmaster's office in this lifetime, but she knew enough from Old Hermione's memories to have an idea of the layout. The room appeared to have been magically expanded for the occasion of the governors' meeting, and the headmaster's desk had been transfigured into a large circular table which sat in the center of the room. There was no sign of Remus, and she assumed Dumbledore had sent him away.

Following closely on Lucius's heels, the girl darted into the office after her brother, narrowly avoiding Professor McGonagall as she shut the door behind the Malfoys. The woman looked slightly puzzled at the sudden breeze that whipped across her face, but didn't appear to linger on it. As the headmaster and the governors took their seats, Hermione moved to stand behind Lucius, quickly taking stock of the men and women seated about the table.

Ophelia Selwyn had taken the seat directly to Lucius's left. The dour woman, with the death of her husband, was the reigning matriarch of the Selwyn family - they had always been unusually progressive in that particular respect, the Selwyns, allowing women to openly head the family ever since a particularly fierce eldest daughter had been born into the clan some time in the sixteenth century and murdered all three of her younger brothers after her father had refused to pass on control of the family to his female child. Hermione didn't know much about the Selwyns, this being the most distinguishing feature of the family, but she was vaguely aware that Ophelia's grandson was a Death Eater. Old Hermione couldn't supply much on him, other than the fact that he had been partnered with Henry Travers during the ambush of the Lovegoods in their home during the second war, and had been particularly brutal with Xenophililius Lovegood during the encounter. Lady Welwyn's earlier angry muttering had made it clear her opinion on the present subject, but Hermione hoped there was some way the Death Eater son might be used as leverage.

Next to Ophelia was Elphias Doge. He was a member of the Wizengamot, and fiercely loyal to Dumbledore. Hermione doubted she had anything to worry about on that front; although she was uncertain whether Doge personally thought it was safe to have a lycanthropic student at Hogwarts, she was fairly confident he would bend to the headmaster's whims. That left Marius Abbott and Laurinda Macmillan.

Laurinda Macmillan was a bit of an airhead from what Hermione understood of her; she was on the board of trustees of St. Mungo's, and a model socialite. She was at the center of the group of high society matrons that had always disparaged Abraxas for neglecting Hermione's education as a young lady, and was always throwing extravagant balls and high teas with her husband's gold. True to form, she appeared rather disinterested in the proceedings, and was already fidgeting with the enormous pearl teardrops hanging from her lobes.

Marius Abbott had been an incredibly successful medical potioneer in his time, and was consequently extremely wealthy and also very much in the public's good graces. He was a powerful man, and a regular political adversary of her father's. He tended towards fairly liberal political views (hence his natural opposition to Abraxas), but Hermione knew that the man's only son had been killed in a highly-publicized werewolf attack eight years previously by none other than Fenrir Greyback. He was the current head of the Board, and no doubt would be the most vehemently opposed to Remus remaining at Hogwarts. Hermione frowned at the man. She was certain he would be her most formidable opponent.

"I hereby call this meeting of the Board of Governors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to order." Abbot proclaimed, bringing his wand down on the center of the table with a businesslike rap.

A clear, bell-like note rang through the office and all of the portraits on the walls, some of whom had been snoozing in their frames, straightened with interest.

"I believe we all know why we are here. In the early hours of this morning the Board was informed by an anonymous source of the presence of a werewolf amidst the students of this school. This, I think we can all agree, is an unacceptable breach of student safety, and the werewolf in question must be immediately expelled and sent to one of wizarding Britain's designated quarantine zones."

"Here here!" Lady Selwyn wheezed, bringing a gloved hand down upon the table. "How this slipped past you, Dumbledore, entirely baffles me, but I must say we will be _strongly_ scrutinizing you and your staff in the coming months to determine how a safety risk of this magnitude went unaddressed."

"If I might interject, Marius." This from Elphias Doge.

Abbot nodded, gesturing for the man to continue.

"Headmaster, have any students been injured as a direct result of this particular student's lycanthropy?"

"No, Elphias, there have been no injuries. Appropriate precautionary measures have been taken to ensure that the student will not cause harm to his peers during his time at school; he is taken every month to a place in which we can be absolutely certain he will be secure and unable to injure anyone, and kept in utmost seclusion."

Dumbledore's calm was implacable, a small smile on his face and his hands crossed comfortably in his lap.

"Measures have been taken? Does that mean, then, that you and your staff were aware of Mr. Lupin's condition, Headmaster?" Abbot said sharply, a militant gleam appearing in his eye.

"Yes, Marius, I was aware of the student's condition long before he ever enrolled at Hogwarts."

There was a cry of outrage from Lady Selwyn, which caused Laurinda Macmillan to gasp and clutch at her chest theatrically.

"And you mean to tell me that you allowed that halfbreed to come here, amongst hundreds of vulnerable young people, where he could have injured or killed any number of defenseless children?" The woman screeched.

"Lady Selwyn, please, contain yourself." Abbot said quietly, a cold fury in his voice despite the rebuke.

"My daughter is a student here, Albus." Laurinda spoke for the first time, her voice every bit as breathy as Hermione had been expecting. "I've always trusted your judgement; if you say the children are safe, I'm inclined to believe you. But if there were an accident, some terrible accident…the very thought! It makes me feel faint!"

The woman fanned herself with the sleeve of her lacy robes, and Hermione stifled a snort at the disgusted expression Professor McGonagall wore from her place behind Mrs. Macmillan.

"Must there really be this excessive huffing and puffing about the matter?" Lucius drawled, reclining back in his seat. "It seems obvious enough what ought to be done; the boy must be expelled, and that will be the end of the matter."

"With all due respect, Mr. Malfoy, we were expecting your father here today. You are not a member of the Board, and have little experience dealing with such matters; this certainly brooks further discussion. If the Headmaster saw fit to admit the boy, and has personally seen to it that he causes no harm to the other students, I believe we would be foolish to discount his good judgement." Doge said.

"I sit here in my father's place, and I can assure you that I represent him in my full capacity as his heir." Lucius said coolly, still not straightening in his seat.

Hermione smiled fondly down at her brother, who was admirably handling being the youngest person at the table by at least two decades. As she glanced up, she could swear she made eye contact with the Headmaster, whose lips twitched slightly before he averted his gaze entirely. Frowning slightly, she drew a bit farther back from the table.

"Tensions are clearly running high," Dumbledore said mildly. "Might I move that we take an hour recess, that an old man might have time to have his morning tea before we conclude this discussion."

"I would prefer to settle the matter immediately, but if the Board votes for a recess, we must of course proceed with one." Abbott said tightly. "All in favor of an hour long recess."

Laurinda, Elphias and Lucius all tapped their wands down upon the table. The bell-like tone rang through the office once more, and Dumbledore rose to his feet with a beaming smile.

"I shall be preparing a strong pot of black tea in my personal study, if anyone would care to join me." He swept off with Professor McGonagall closely following him.

Moments later Doge rose from his seat and headed off to the headmaster's study, leaving the rest of the Board alone in the office.

"I really must make a floo call; the florist I'm using for the St. Mungo's gala next week has me at my wit's end." Laurinda fluttered to her feet and exited the room.

Lucius excused himself as well, and Hermione followed closely on his heels. He appeared to be wandering fairly aimlessly in the direction of the Divination stairwell, and Hermione waited until he was well out of earshot and sight of the Headmaster's office before she pulled off the invisibility cloak.

"Hello, Lucius."

The man turned on his heel, alarm visible in his usually unreadable eyes.

"Hermione! Merlin, where did you come from?"

She held up the silvery cloak, and Lucius stared incredulously at its rippling folds.

"The Board of Governors meeting." She said with a sly smile.

"Where in Circe's name did you find an invisibility cloak that effective?" He demanded, moving forward to touch the velvety fabric.

"Never you mind. It's on loan from a friend. On to more important business; I need this vote to go in favor of the student staying here, Lucius."

Her brother stared at her, clearly baffled, for several long moments.

"And why is that?" He finally said, his voice returned to its usual even tenor.

"Because the halfbreed in question is one Remus Lupin, one of my dearest and most trusted friends and allies."

" _Lupin?_ That scruffy halfblood you were always hanging about with?"

"The very same."

"I won't push for it, Hermione. You saw how tenuous my authority is at the table; if _Elphias Doge_ thinks he can talk down to me, I hardly think I stand a chance against Marius Abbot. Father's been trying to take him down for years with very limited success. And besides, I've been telling you since you were a first year that it's perilous for you to be seen associating yourself with people like Lupin. Once it comes out that he's a werewolf - and it will come out - it will be even worse. As far as I'm concerned it's all the better that he'll be gone."

Hermione narrowed her eyes dangerously.

"Lucius, it was not a request I made of you. I said that I _need_ this vote to go in favor of him staying. You _will_ help me in this matter."

"Or what, little sister?"

"Or I'll tell Father that you've been keeping me completely informed on all of his plans to subvert the Dark Lord, and that you've been using me as a source inside Hogwarts to acquire information and sow doubts amongst the next generation of Death Eaters." She delivered calmly.

Lucius stared incredulously for a moment.

"You're bluffing. You don't actually know anything; he'd never believe I'd been feeding you information."

"I know enough, Lucius. Like the fact that Father has been having monthly meetings with Phineas Yaxley and Asterion Avery. Easy enough to put two and two together, brother dear; the Yaxleys have the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical creatures completely under their thumb, after that little incident back in '61 when they got fined for having an illegal herd of thestrals on their property in Wales. And the Averys, of course, have a number of connections all throughout Eastern Europe owing to their heir apparent's position as the ambassador to Bulgaria. Clearly the Dark Lord is trying to recruit Dark creatures into his ranks, and Father is negotiating with the key players in this situation - Yaxley and Avery, naturally, owing to their unique connections - to try and prevent him from getting what he wants. Am I right?"

Lucius watched her with narrowed eyes. He wore an expression that Hermione had never seen directed at her before, and it took her a moment to identify it as wary respect.

"Incorrect in a few minor details, but an adept enough deduction." He said silkily. "And where, exactly, have you been acquiring all this information, Hermione? Because it certainly has not been from me, regardless of what you may tell Father."

"Again with the irrelevant questions," She said, waving a hand dismissively. "The important bit here is that I have leverage - I think that's been neatly established - and you're going to help me get Remus out of this."

"Even if I did agree to advocate on behalf of your scruffy halfbreed, the fact remains that Marius Abbot stands between us and our desired objective, and he is a very bad person to have standing between you and your objective. And then there's the Selwyn crone."

"Lady Selwyn is an easy one. Her grandson is a Death Eater, is he not? And you, if I'm not mistaken, have lately proven yourself quite the favorite of your shared master, yes? You could offer her son protection, a good word with our resident Dark Lord, something to that effect?"

Lucius looked pensive for a moment.

"I suppose. I know little about their relationship, however; it could be a miscalculation if she doesn't care enough for her grandson's welfare."

"The Selwyns are tightly-knit, and as head of the family she has an obligation to ensure the safety of all its members, even if she's not particularly close to her grandson."

"That still leaves Laurinda Macmillan and, more importantly, Abbott."

"Macmillan…leave her to me. I know her sort. High-society ladies of that variety only care about a few things: gold, throwing successful parties, and seeing their daughters make successful marriages. I know her daughter, Alice - I have an idea of how to use that."

"Alright then." There was a gleam in Lucius's eye, and Hermione smiled slyly.

She had known that once she got Lucius on her side the rest would come easily; Malfoys were natural-born schemers and negotiators, and Lucius in particular thrived on this sort of political conniving. She knew he wouldn't hold her mild form of blackmail against her, and also doubted that he would ever suspect his pretty and innocuous new wife of being her mole inside the Manor. She struggled not to roll her eyes at the thought of how wizards so often underestimated their wives, sisters and daughters.

"Marius Abbott…I've heard Father rail against him frequently enough. But if he had any substantial weaknesses, I'm sure Father would have capitalized upon them by now. He'll never let a werewolf remain at Hogwarts, not after what happened to his son."

"No, you wouldn't think so… _but_ …" A thought came to her, and she smiled up at her brother, who cocked an inquiring eyebrow down at his little sister, who quite suddenly seemed anything but little. "William Abbott. Do you remember him? He was a year below you, graduated just last year?"

"Ah. Marius's nephew, yes?" Lucius was smiling too, now.

"Yes. And if you'll recall, his parents were both dead - Dragon Pox, if I'm not mistaken. The generous and philanthropic Mr. Abbott and his wife took his nephew in shortly before he started Hogwarts, right after the death of their own son. I'd imagine they would love the boy like a son, and care for him especially fiercely after losing their own child. Now, William was dating that muggleborn girl Nancy Felsteiner, do you remember?"

"Ah yes. Charming girl, despite her low birth."

"Quite. Anyway, she and William were perfectly smitten and everyone was certain they were going to get married. And then, after they graduated, the two of them completely disappeared. Vanished into thin air. Nobody has seen or heard from them in over twelve months."

"I'd assume Abbott had them go into hiding; he's prominently in opposition to the Dark Lord and many of the older families on the Wizengamot. It would be dangerous for his nephew and a muggleborn wife."

"Yes, that was my thought as well. And of course there's no telling where they might be and I really have no interest in knowing. But I'm certain the Dark Lord would. Now that I think about it, I heard Lillian Abbott blabbing a few months ago about her family's secluded vacation cottage in the South West - that might be a place to start, for any interested parties. And if you were to insinuate that you might know something…well…"

"It's a gamble, Hermione. Marius Abbott is a very bad man to anger."

"It's not as if he feels too charitably towards our family as it is; the way I see it, we have little to lose and everything to gain."

Lucius smoothed the front of his robes, clearly deep in thought.

"Very well. Let us secure your scruffy halfbreed's educational future."

Hermione smiled and stood on tip toes to kiss Lucius on the cheek.

"I knew you'd come around, brother."

* * *

Lady Selwyn had been about as straightforward as Hermione had said she would be; a gracefully-dropped hint about her grandson's future amongst the Death Eaters had earned the elderly woman's vote, and Lucius currently found himself alone in the Headmaster's office with Marius Abbott, who had elected to remain at the table while the rest of the Board dispersed.

The man looked up at the sound of Lucius's re-entry, and gave him a curt nod before returning to a sheaf of papers he had before him on the table.

"Dreadful weather for a quidditch match." Lucius drawled, lacing his hands behind his back and pacing to the wall behind Abbott, ostensibly to examine one of the many whirring, metallic instruments Dumbledore had on display there.

"Beg pardon?" Abbott said after a moment, setting down his papers but not turning around to look at Lucius.

"It's the first match of the season today, you know, Gryffindor versus Slytherin."

"Ah. I suppose you would know, your school days being so recently behind you."

Lucius smirked slightly at the thinly-veiled barb.

"Indeed. I was just a year ahead of a William Abbott, he was a chaser for Hufflepuff if I recall. Any relation?"

Abbott, who up to this point had remained seated at the table facing away from Lucius, turned in his chair to stare at the younger man, who was still partially turned towards the shelf filled with Dumbledore's trinkets. He fought the urge to smile; he clearly had the man's attention now.

"My nephew. Were you acquainted?" Marius inquired stiffly.

"Oh, only vaguely. We'd have occasion to chat from time to time, you know, fellow prefects and all. What _has_ William been up to recently? It seems as though no one has seen him in ages. Is he still seeing that charming girl…Nancy, was it?"

A crease appeared in Abbott's forehead, and his expression was just a hair's breadth away from an outright glower.

"My nephew was offered a research position at a potioneering institute in a remote area of New Zealand. He will be employed there for the foreseeable future."

It was rehearsed, and Abbot was no actor; Lucius found it unlikely that most people would be fooled by the explanation, but then again most people would not ever think to challenge Marius Abbott.

"Is that so? I never recall William having much of an eye for potions, but what do I know?" He said mildly, pacing around to the opposite wall so that Abbott had to swivel in his seat to track his progress.

The older man's gaze had shifted from suspicious to hostile by this point.

"An excellent question, Mr. Malfoy. You would do well to refrain from interfering with matters about which you know nothing." He said icily.

"I think you'll find, Mr. Abbott, that I know a great deal about a great many things. Your family's holiday cottage in the South West, for example, which I recall William always speaking so fondly of."

He watched the man carefully. It was clear that he was attempting to maintain a steadily indifferent expression, but as Lucius had noted earlier, Marius Abbott was no actor; the momentary flash of genuine alarm in his eyes was unmistakable.

"I also happen to know some very powerful people. People who might be very interested indeed to hear news of the ever-likable William and the lovely Nancy." He purred.

Abbott stood from the table then, rising to his full height and taking a step closer to Lucius. The younger man felt the briefest flicker of doubt as the imposing wizard drew up before him. The aquiline planes of Abbott's face were hard with anger, and his presence loomed as he brought its full force to bear on Lucius. He only allowed himself a moment of uncertainty - what if this had, indeed, been a miscalculation and Abbott was about to curse him then and there, in the middle of the Headmaster's office? - before he marshaled his thoughts.

"What do you want here, Malfoy? What's your angle?"

"Amnesty for the halfbreed." He said with only a touch of irony, smirking slightly as Abbott's brow furrowed.

"Why? So the creature can be of use to you and your master once he's of age?" The man sneered.

"Hardly anything so nefarious, Mr. Abbott." He saw that the man was not quite swayed, despite the threat to his beloved nephew.

If Lucius understood one thing about Abbott, it was that he was a man of rigid moral principles. He would not, in good conscience, be able to allow Lupin to be spared if he believed Lucius's motivations involved recruiting the boy into the ranks of the Dark. His own desire to protect his family would become secondary in the face of 'the greater good,' no doubt, an idea which Lucius found himself struggling not to openly display his disdain for. Lucius Malfoy was neither an evil nor uncompassionate man; he took no pleasure in the suffering of others. But he would always, first and foremost, be a Malfoy. Protecting his family was his greatest and ultimately only concern, when it came down to it, and men like Marius Abbott with their lofty principles struck him as fools.

"I will be frank with you, Mr. Abbott." He would take a gamble. "I have a little sister who is very dear to me."

Abbott looked taken-aback at the turn this had taken, but made no move to interrupt the younger man.

"She happens to be a student here, a fifth-year, and is quite close with the aforementioned halfbreed. Although I have made many an attempt to discourage these relations over the years- I did not know of the boy's condition, obviously, but he was unsuitable company for my sister for myriad other reasons - she was stubborn and insisted upon his moral character. While I presume no expertise on the subject of magical creatures, I do know that there is not unsubstantial evidence that the threat werewolves pose to humans, when properly monitored and regulated, can can be mitigated considerably. My sister is very fond of this werewolf, Mr. Abbott - believe me, it sounds as ridiculous to you as it does to me. But as I am very fond of my sister, I have seen fit to offer my protection to the boy. Give me your vote and I swear upon my honor not to mention anything I may know about your nephew to any party, no matter how interested."

Abbott was still frowning, but some of the vitriol had drained from his expression. Now he just appeared to be contemplating jinxing Lucius rather than cursing him.

"The honor of a Malfoy? Not worth much." He said at last, and Lucius smiled, trying not to let too much triumph creep into the expression.

"And yet you have it, Mr. Abbott."

At that very moment, the door to the study swung open to admit a slightly flustered Laurinda Macmillan, who was followed by a more subdued Ophelia Selwyn, who gave Lucius a subtle nod as she moved to take her seat at the table. As the Board began to reconvene, Abbott gave Lucius a last assessing look and said,

"You represent your father in full capacity as his heir indeed, Mr. Malfoy."

* * *

Mrs. Macmillan had almost been _too_ easy, Hermione thought to herself as she ghosted into Dumbledore's office behind Lady Selwyn. It had been easy enough to coincidentally 'run into' the woman as she was exiting McGonagall's study (where she had been using the floo.) After striking up conversation, it had been simple enough to suggest to the woman through fabricated gossip and dropped hints that her daughter Alice's social status was slipping (untrue) and that she would benefit immensely from a close relationship with Hermione (also untrue) to get her back onto her feet. She hoped Laurinda, eager to forge an alliance with the youngest Malfoy on her daughter's behalf, would be swayed to go along with Lucius's vote. She also suspected the woman cared little for political matters, and was more than likely to go the direction that most of the others seemed to be bending; it was debatable whether Hermione's intervention had even been required at all.

After a few more minutes of shuffling about, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Doge all emerged from the Headmaster's private quarters. In short order, Abbott recalled the meeting.

"Now that our recess is concluded, we may reopen this matter for discussion." The man said stiffly.

"I move that we vote on the matter." Ophelia said raspily. "With an hour's reflection behind me, I feel prepared to make a decision."

"Seconded." Doge said firmly.

Abbott cast Lucius a glacial look, to which he responded with a bland smile.

"All in favor of taking this matter to a vote?"

Lucius, Ophelia, and Doge all brought their wands down upon the table and the bell-like chime sounded.

"That is a majority, then." Abbott sounded as though it pained him to say. "I will remind the Board, in my position as chair, that in order for this matter to be settled, the vote must be unanimous one way or the other. All in favor of the…student…being expelled?"

No one brought their wand down on the table, and after a moment Abbott continued.

"All in favor of his continued…residency at the school?"

Five wands, including Abbott's own, were brought down upon the table. Both Doge and McGonagall could not seem to contain their surprise, Doge's bushy eyebrows raising into his receding hairline, and McGonagall's forehead creasing. Dumbledore looked as serenely unruffled as always.

"It is settled then. The creature may stay. But may I move that, as a safety measure, students and their families be informed of his presence at this institution?"

Lucius's eyes narrowed. This had not been part of the arrangement. From her place behind him, Hermione fought the urge to grip her brother's shoulder. Remus might be better off expelled, if everyone at school were to find out about his condition. She knew that he would leave voluntarily before enduring the social estrangement that would ensue.

"If I might interject on the student's behalf, Marius?" Dumbledore said mildly.

Abbott made a stiff, reluctant little gesture with his hand. The signet ring on his pinky finger gleamed.

"It would create an extremely hostile learning environment if all the students and their families were to be made aware of this particular student's lycanthropy. The imposition of this condition would be as good as a vote to expel him. If I might suggest a compromise?"

"Please, Dumbledore!" Laurinda exhaled, fiddling with her pearl earrings and looking very much like she would rather be overseeing her unreliable florist than present at the meeting.

"We will inform the students and their families of the presence of a werewolf amongst the student body. We will also inform them of the safety measures taken - personally overseen by myself - to prevent accidents, and after receiving all of this information they will be free to withdraw their students if they feel the school to be unsafe. However, I must insist that the student's identity be kept entirely confidential until the time of his graduation."

Abbott looked reluctant to accept the compromise, but after taking stock of the nodding heads around the table, he bowed his own in reticent agreement.

"I find this to be acceptable."

"Excellent! Then the matter is settled." Dumbledore beamed.

Placing his wand down upon the table, Abbott disbanded the meeting and immediately swept out of the office. Hermione took the opportunity to follow closely behind him, and was momentarily frozen with fear as he stopped short outside the office and glanced about himself with an expression of suspicious confusion. She held her breath, not daring to move even a centimeter, and after a moment Abbott grunted to himself and moved off down the corridor towards McGonagall's study, where he would no doubt floo back to the Abbotts' estate in Wales.

The remainder of the Board trickled out of the Headmaster's office shortly after, and Lucius very deliberately, after exchanging polite goodbyes with the other witches and wizards, headed off in the direction of the library. Hermione followed, and it was not long before they had reached an empty corridor near the charms classroom. The roar from the quidditch pitch was audible from the sweeping windows lining the walls.

Lucius ducked into an alcove, and Hermione suddenly realized that it was the very same one, containing the bloody medieval battle scene, that she and Lucius had held conference about her association with Remus that very first day of her first year. This struck Hermione as poetically cyclical.

She swept the invisibility cloak off of herself in one fluid motion, and Lucius appeared entirely unsurprised to see her there.

"I would deem that relatively successful, considering we were up against Marius Abbott."

"Agreed. The public announcement to parents and students is not…ideal. But as you say, given the circumstances it was all we could have hoped for. Thank you for your help Lucius, truly. I appreciate it."

"Did I have much of a choice in the matter?" He inquired archly, and she merely smiled in response.

The moment of levity quickly dissipated, however, as Lucius's expression grew serious.

"Things are getting more complicated for us, Hermione. I was not merely being critical earlier when I said that it is more important than ever before that you not been seen associating yourself with people like Lupin. The Dark Lord…has demonstrated a new level of trust in me, one that we must not jeopardize."

Unconsciously, it seemed, Lucius's hand gravitated to the breast pocket of his robes, where the Dark Lord's package was ensconced. The thing gave off the strangest feeling, and he did not entirely like keeping it so close to his body. Hermione, noting the gesture, immediately felt her stomach go cold.

"What do you mean, Lucius? What new level of trust?"

"He has given me something which I perceive to be of the utmost importance to him to guard. I will have to confer with Father regarding what to make of this. But know that we must tread more carefully than ever."

Hermione nodded, her mind racing with possibilities. She tried not to reveal any of her thoughts, the ease of long practice rendering this endeavor easily successful.

"I hope you realize, now, that I'm no longer a child, Lucius. You can trust me with these matters."

Her brother gave her a very long, unreadable look.

"Were you ever a child, sister?"

* * *

Later, after Lucius had left the castle, Hermione made her way up to the Owlrey. She guessed that the match would be ending soon - it had already been an exceptionally long one - so now was likely the only time she would be able to get away to send a letter.

Giving Hyperion, who still after all these years had a nasty habit of nipping her fingers, a wary look, she bent over beneath his perch and hastily penned a note.

 _N,_

 _There is something in your husband's possession that I need you to acquire for me with all possible haste. Contact me via floo at precisely eleven this evening._

 _H_

She watched as the imperious screech, who had this time deigned to spare her fingers, launched himself into the air beyond the Owlrey tower and quickly became nothing more than a purplish dot on the horizon.

* * *

 **AN: No fun flirty timez in this chapter, and some may find it a bit dry, in which case I apologize! There ought to be fluff, drama, tears, and laughter galore in the next chapter though, so bear with me if you're bored to tears by all the political nonsense ;)**

 **ALSO: I don't usually post particularly conversational/chatty author's notes that aren't related specifically to the story/chapter at hand, but can we all take a moment to lol at the account live-to-forgive (or something?) that's been posting these identical reviews all over the place that are just a block of religious propaganda? Lmao I was like "wow this person was so incredibly thoughtful and left me such an amazingly long review, I can't wait to read - oh. It's Christian propaganda." Rlly trolled me on that one, live-to-forgive. Little do they know I'm an atheist pro-choicer with socialist leanings! (not to get overtly political lol I appreciate readers, authors, and generally human beings of all political and religious backgrounds!) This is not the fanfic author you are looking for, live-to-forgive...**


	12. Too Clever, Really

Chapter Twelve

Too Clever, Really

November, 1975

Back in the Slytherin common room, Judith was more than a little cross that Hermione had abandoned her minutes before the match. But her mild temperament prevailed, and Hermione was able to placate her friend with a flimsy explanation — an owl from Abraxas had requested that she immediately floo call him regarding an urgent family matter — and the suggestion that they visit Regulus in the hospital wing. The boy, contrary to Rabastan's promises, had been injured during the match; he'd been hit in the arm with a bludger while diving for the snitch, which had allowed the Gryffindor seeker to capture it unopposed and end the game.

"Will he have to take skele-grow?" Judith fretted, as the two girls ascended the staircase leading to the hospital wing.

The castle was still buzzing in the wake of the match, and students wearing either red or green — more of the latter than the former, as Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws tended to side with the Gryffindor team — milled excitedly all throughout the corridors. Hermione was discreetly scanning each group of students they passed, hoping to catch sight of Remus, but it was to no avail.

In the wake of the board meeting and Lucius's revelation that he now possessed what could only be Voldemort's diary, Hermione found her head spinning. The only person who could have possibly tipped off the governors was Severus, but that made little sense for several reasons, foremost among them the fact that he was a penniless and woefully unconnected halfblood; none of the prominent members of the board would be likely to pay heed to anything he had to say, and Severus was wily enough to know this. If he had really wanted this to get out, he would have tipped of the Prophet or gone directly to the Ministry to file a report. And besides all that, there was a very large part of Hermione that wanted to trust her friend and believe that he cared for her enough to abide by her wishes. But she couldn't ignore that he was, to her knowledge, the only other person who knew about Remus's condition outside of the Marauders. From Old Hermione's memories, she had no knowledge of something like this having ever happened to the Remus in her world. Old Hermione seemed quite sure that no one had ever discovered Remus's secret during his school days; this was an aberration, made dangerous and confusing because Hermione could not pinpoint its cause. Had she done this to Remus merely by existing?

She was beginning to realize just how dangerous it could be to assume that the events of this world would mirror those in Old Hermione's. Ursula and Old Hermione herself had warned her time and again about this assumption, but she couldn't help it. She already had overwhelming evidence of the differences; her family was not truly aligned with Voldemort, for one thing, and all the ripple effects that alone had produced were likely enough to make her world unrecognizable in comparison to her counterpart's. What if her assumption that Lucius had been given the diary was wrong? What if Voldemort didn't even have horcruxes, or if they were somehow different from the ones in Old Hermione's world? In that moment Hermione, despite her knowledge of an entire other lifetime, felt very much like a child.

 _Calm down. It's no use fretting over things you can't possibly know. Your problem — our problem, really, as god knows I made this mistake often enough — is thinking you know everything, or that if you don't, you can learn the things you don't know. Be wary of making assumptions of any sort; don't assume facts of my world predict facts of yours, but don't assume that they do not. Work off what you can verify; see what Narcissa finds when she goes looking. And relax, for goodness's sake, you're stiff as a board._

As she and Judith approached the hospital wing, she forcibly unclenched her hands and tried not to allow the terrible doubt and conflict she felt gnawing away at her show on her face.

Regulus was propped up by several stiffly-starched pillows on one of the cots closest to the door. His arm was already in a sling, and he appeared to be listening, with evident distaste, to Madame Pomfrey as she bustled about the cot listing off the potions she would be prescribing. Rabastan was seated in a chair next to the bedside, smirking slightly at his teammate's expression, but upon noting the two girls' entrance, he stood.

"And you'll have to take skele-grow for that arm, of course," The matron was saying.

Glancing up at the girls, she gave them a mildly pursed lip and said,

"Visitors for the next hour only, then he needs his rest."

She gathered up her skirts and strode off to the potions cupboard, with a last stern look over her shoulder. Rabastan smiled ruefully, reaching up to ruffle his hair in what struck Hermione as an uncharacteristically boyish gesture.

"I am afraid I owe you an apology, Miss Malfoy, for I have failed to deliver you my seeker unscathed."

"I'm not a bloody package, Lestrange." Regulus grumped, reaching over to his bedside table to grab a glimmering foil bag of chocolates.

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"The adoring fans have already stopped by to pay their sympathies?"

"Black has quite the following these days." Lestrange confirmed, even as Regulus tore open the bag and continued to grumble about 'flirting with my friends' and 'talking like I'm not here.'

"Well, Mr. Lestrange, if I recall, our agreement was that you would return him to me without any head injuries; his head seems fine, apart from the usual issues."

"Oh, so I'm the one with head issues, now? What do you call that hair?"

Hermione smiled slightly, and swept her robes to one side so she could take a seat at the foot of the bed.

"I'd watch out for those chocolates, if I were you. I overheard Cedrella Greengrass talking the other day about a coupon in Witch Weekly for two-for-one love potions."

"You're making that up." He replied, although there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he glanced down at the fizzing fudge bar he had just taken a bite from.

She shrugged offhandedly, and then suppressed a giggle as he nudged her none-too-delicately with his foot.

"How's your arm feeling?" Judith murmured, unmasked concern shining from her dark eyes.

"Not bad," He replied, shifting the aforementioned limb slightly in its cotton sling. "You heard Pomfrey; it's broken, but with skele-grow I should be healed in a day or two."

"Let's hope so. We have our match against Hufflepuff next month, and I don't want to run too many practices without you." Rabastan said.

Regulus nodded in eager agreement, but Judith, usually so painfully mild, shot the older Slytherin a perturbed look.

"He's broken his arm, for Circe's sake, and here you are going on about quidditch." She said.

"How did it happen, anyway?" Hermione asked, eager to intercede before Judith - who she could see flushing with indignation - could start a row with Rabastan.

Judith might be meek as a mouse the majority of the time, but she could bristle quite impressively when she felt it was on behalf of her friends. And wherever Regulus was concerned, Hermione knew everything was amplified for the besotted girl.

"You didn't see? My bloody brother got me with a bludger right as I was going in for the snitch. I was a broom length ahead of Thomas; the match would have been ours."

His face grew stormy as he spoke, and by the end he looked ready to punch a wall. Regulus had a temper to rival his brother's - and nothing sparked it like brotherly rivalry. After the stress of the afternoon, she had no desire to be sniped at by the moody boy, and so thought it might be approaching time to excuse herself. But Rabastan spoke before she could.

"I think that's perhaps my cue. Glad you came through it with your limbs mostly attached, Black. I'll see you at practice; we'll make up for today with the Hufflepuffs."

He clapped his teammate on the shoulder attached to his uninjured arm. With a polite nod to both his female housemates, he quietly left the hospital wing. As soon as he was gone, Regulus fixed Hermione with a beady eye.

"Your father wouldn't approve." He declared loftily. "The Lestranges are far too radical."

"I can't say I know what Lestrange's intentions are, but I doubt they're anything approaching serious; there have been rumors floating around about an engagement between him and that Avery girl for years."

"Why bother with him, then?" He grunted, taking a surly bite of fudge.

Hermione frowned at him. Regulus was argumentative by nature, frequently taking pleasure in playing the devil's advocate and not above starting a row for debate's sake. But she hated when he got in these sulky, contrary moods, where his snark was more bitter than playful.

"I think the better question is why am I bothering with _you_ when you're clearly just looking for someone's head to bite off?" She said crossly, rising from her seat at the foot of his bed. "I've had a long day, I'm heading back to the Common Room."

"I think I'll stay a bit longer." Judith said quietly.

Regulus, who had puffed up with indignation, seemed to deflate at this. Whatever blistering retort he had been about to deliver clearly died on his tongue, and Hermione felt herself softening a bit.

"I'll see you at dinner then, Judy. Do as Madame Pomfrey tells you, Reg." She added sternly, and Regulus rolled his eyes.

The real irritation seemed to have drained out of him, however, and as Hermione glanced over her shoulder on the way out of the infirmary, she couldn't help but smile at the sight of Judith perched awkwardly on a chair at his bedside while the two spoke softly.

She was approaching the dungeons, and the crowds of excitable students had gradually thinned on each floor until she found herself padding through completely silent corridors. She was preoccupied with anxious thoughts of Remus, her brother, and her upcoming conversation with Narcissa that evening, and so was slower than she ordinarily would have been to notice the nearby sounds of an altercation. It was quite a nasty shock, then, when the witch rounded the corner to find Sirius with his forearm jammed against Severus's windpipe as he held the much smaller boy up against a wall.

Sirius was still in his quidditch robes, his long hair knotty with sweat, and Severus looked quite bedraggled as well; it was obvious they had already been tussling for several minutes, and by the looks of things, Sirius firmly had the upper hand.

"Who else have you told?" He growled.

Severus snarled in defiance, the sound coming out as a choked gurgle owing to the pressure Sirius was putting on his windpipe. Before Sirius could jam the tip of his wand into Severus's stomach, as it appeared was his intention, Hermione cried out,

"Sirius! Let him go!"

The boys' heads both snapped around, an expression of narrow-eyed fury on Severus's face while Sirius looked more startled than anything else. The surprise quickly drained from his features, however, replaced by an expression of furious contempt.

"This miserable twat deserves far worse than a bruised windpipe for what he's done to Remus." He snarled.

"We don't know it was him that tipped off the board." Hermione said, trying to keep her tone even and reasonable.

Sirius Black, for all his mischief and careless insolence, was not to be underestimated when angered; he radiated a dangerous heat, the weight of his barely-contained magic a physical presence in the air. Hermione would never admit it, but she was a little frightened; it was easy to see, in this incensed schoolboy, what would one day quite soon become a fearsome auror.

"Who else could it have been? You said your bloody self that the git had figured it out."

"But I also said that I trusted him! Please, Sirius, let him go."

Hermione was not one to beg; she was a negotiator, a fighter, but rarely a supplicant. But that was precisely what she was doing, her eyes filled with every ounce of pleading she could muster. Sirius stared back at her for a long moment, the anger in his eyes cooling fractionally until it was no longer quite the raging blaze it had been minutes previously. His brow tightened slightly, and then he was loosening the pressure on Severus's neck.

This marginal relief was clearly all the Slytherin needed, for he immediately lunged to the ground and scooped up his wand. Before either Hermione or Sirius could react, he had aimed a cutting hex at Sirius's face and crimson bloomed on the other boy's cheekbone.

"You fucking wanker!" Sirius snarled, leveling his own wand at Severus.

Before things could escalate further, Hermione threw up a shield charm between the two of them.

"Enough! Severus, that's enough!"

Her friend turned to her, his features twisted into ugliness by rage.

"So this is it, then. I knew all along you'd take his side when it came down to it."

"Severus, did you tell anyone?" She said, urgency making her voice tight. "Anyone at all?"

"And what if I did? Are you going to help Black beat me into submission as penance for stepping on the family dog's tail?"

Hermione had to physically step forward and clamp a restraining hand around Sirius's wrist to stop him from lunging forward. They both knew he could easily push her aside, but as he glanced down at her hand it seemed to have a steadying effect. He didn't break her grip.

"I would never raise a hand against a friend, Severus." She said, and he laughed chillingly.

There was a glimmer of something beyond anger, beyond any rational or worldly emotion in his eyes, and Hermione felt, for the second time in minutes, real fear thrum through her.

"Is that what I am, now? Since when? Never fear, Miss Malfoy, I understand perfectly; you're meant for more _suitable_ company than me." He sneered, a terrible coldness having overtaken his expression, and swept off down the corridor, quickly disappearing down a secret passage behind a tapestry.

Hermione stood rooted to the spot for several long moments, struggling to grasp what had just happened. It was only the sudden noise of liquid hitting flagstone that jolted her out of her petrified state; the cut on Sirius's cheek was flowing freely, and it was the sound of his blood dripping to the floor that she had heard.

"You really ought to go to the hospital wing." She said, her eyebrows knitting together with concern.

Sirius reached up to wipe at the gathering blood, wincing slightly.

"No, my brother is there and I can't imagine he's particularly pleased with me just now." He grinned slightly, and Hermione couldn't help but think the he looked rather mad standing there smirking with blood coursing down his cheek. "Shame you missed the game, I was magnificent."

She released a long, pent-up breath, some of the tension leaving her body even as she fixed him with an exasperated look.

"I'm sure you were. Meanwhile, I was negotiating on behalf of Remus's life and livelihood."

All humor disappeared from Sirius's expression.

"And? What did the board say?"

"My brother and I were able to call in a favor or two and keep him from being expelled—"

She was not even able to finish, detailing the disastrous condition imposed by Marius Abbot, before all the breath was suddenly knocked from her lungs. Sirius had pulled her into a crushing hug, the earthy, musky smell of sweat and broom polish enveloping her. She could also swear there was just the subtlest whiff of wet dog present, but dismissed it as her imagination being fanciful.

Pulling back slightly so he could look her in the face, he smiled broadly There was no hint of smugness or sardonic amusement in the look, as there usually was, and Hermione felt her cheeks and nose grow hot; smiling completely unabashedly, it was harder than ever to deny how utterly beautiful Sirius was. Seemingly thoughtlessly, he tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear, and she felt her cheeks grow even hotter.

"Brilliant. You're brilliant. I refuse to say your brother is brilliant, but I despise him a minute amount less."

She smiled slightly, and was about to muster a response—in defiance of her racing heart and jangled nerves—when there was the sudden sound of a sharp intake of breath from down the corridor. Hermione's head whipped around, and her eyes narrowed at the sight of Dahlia Parkinson, a silver and green scarf wound around her neck.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry to interrupt." The girl simpered.

Hermione glanced up at Sirius, who had dropped his hands away from her but still stood close enough for her to feel his body heat. He met her gaze and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, a disdainful curl twisting his lip.

"You're not interrupting anything, Miss Parkinson." Hermione said coolly, taking a nearly imperceptible step back from Sirius.

Dahlia smirked, her mean little eyes glittering with delight.

"Oh, no need to be coy, _Hermione_. It wouldn't be the first secret of yours I've stumbled upon."

Ordinarily, Hermione would have dismissed Dahlia's words as her usual amateurish mind games. But she knew the girl wasn't an accomplished enough actress to feign the very real light of triumph in her expression. She felt a cool stone of panic harden in her stomach; had Dahlia discovered the papers hidden in her chest? She would have thought that impossible, what with all her concealment and security charms, but perhaps she had been foolishly overconfident. Unlike the other girl, however, Hermione _was_ an accomplished actress, and was not about to let her unease show. She raised an eyebrow, displaying every ounce of unimpressed scorn she could muster.

"I'm sure you stumble upon a great many things, Miss Parkinson, given your distinct lack of coordination." She said coldly.

Sirius snorted inelegantly, and Dahlia's smug look slipped slightly. She seemed to recover quickly, however, treating her adversary to a razor-thin smile.

"Always so clever, Hermione. Too clever, really. My mother always says that wizards don't like witches who get smart with them. Although your Gryffindor halfbreeds and mudbloods don't seem to mind so much, I suppose."

With that, Dahlia turned on her heel and flounced off towards the common room. Hermione allowed herself to frown, sinking deep into thought, while Sirius swore explosively.

"What a cu—" At the warning look she gave him, he rapidly switched directions. "Curmudgeon. Never met such a crotchety and disagreeable bird."

Hermione smiled reluctantly, her thoughts elsewhere. Dahlia being snide was hardly a new development, but it had been always been veiled by subtlety, as was a pureblood lady's way; an insinuating remark here, a barbed joke there. She had never been so boldly obvious with her dislike for Hermione, and the girl guessed it had to do with whatever incriminating information or other advantage she had (or believed she had) on Hermione.

"Listen, Sirius, I have to go. Dahlia's up to something…" She trailed off, her eyes narrowed, and Sirius sighed theatrically.

"Yes, yes, back to your political machinations, Princess. Duty calls."

She began to move away, before a sudden thought struck her.

"Oh, and don't mention to Remus that I had anything to do with this. He doesn't know that I know, and I want him to tell me on his own terms. Marius Abbott, one of the board members, insisted that parents be informed of his presence at the school, although Dumbledore managed to convince him that Remus ought to remain anonymous. So things will shortly be getting trickier for him, I think. He'll be needing friends he can trust more than ever."

Sirius nodded slowly, clearly processing the implications; once parents and students found out, everyone would be clamoring to identify the werewolf amongst them. Remus would have a nearly impossible task before him in concealing his identity—which was, no doubt, precisely what Abbott intended with his imposition of the condition. But what Abbott hadn't calculated for was the werewolf having three very clever, very inventive friends who were not above breaking school rules—or even international wizarding law, for that matter—to protect him. Hermione was confident the Marauders would be able to continue concealing Remus's identity in some ingenious fashion, despite the outcome of the board meeting. Sirius seemed to think so too, as he nodded again after a moment of thought, his expression having cleared considerably.

"We'll think of something."

"I don't doubt it. Just try not to let whatever insane idea comes to mind get you all arrested."

As they moved off in opposite directions, him towards Gryffindor tower to celebrate his team's victory, and her towards the dungeons to investigate Dahlia's suspicious behavior, she momentarily slowed as he threw over his shoulder,

"Parkinson was full of shite, you know. You can get smart with me whenever you like."

She didn't respond and resumed walking, mostly to conceal the blush which had once again made an appearance on her cheeks.

* * *

The Slytherin common room was completely deserted, aside from a weedy-looking first year shoved into a corner scribbling away frantically at an essay. Hermione felt herself releasing a sigh of a relief; she had been afraid she might come across Severus. Another disastrous problem requiring her attention, she thought to herself with some exasperation as she silently padded up the spiral stairs to the girls' dormitories. It seemed as though the world was falling in on itself, and all her careful planning—and even the presence of a trans-dimensional war hero with moderate omniscience inside her head—did nothing to prevent it from doing so.

 _What can I say, you and I were never destined to live quiet or peaceful lives._ Old Hermione said wryly, and Hermione wrinkled her nose in irritation.

As she approached the fifth-years' dorm, she slowed her pace and moved with even more careful deliberation. The door was partially ajar, and a brief glance inside revealed Dahlia seated on the edge of her bed rifling through what appeared to be a stationary kit. Drawing back, Hermione pulled the Potters' invisibility cloak from her bag and draped it over herself. She felt a twinge of guilt in doing so, knowing she should have taken the opportunity to give it back to Sirius earlier. But now she was glad she had forgotten to do so, for it would make her task now far easier.

Gently pushing on the dormitory door, Hermione slipped through the consequently larger crack, even as Dahlia's head snapped up at the sound of the hinges creaking. Hermione folded herself against the wall and held her breath, even as the other girl strode over to the partially-ajar door and stuck her head out into the hallway, glancing about suspiciously. Upon seeing nothing, Dahlia frowned and closed the door completely. Hermione ghosted after the other girl as she made her way back to her bed, and came up on the other side of the four poster so she could peer over Dahlia's shoulder as she returned to her stationary set.

The cream-colored parchment had an ostentatious 'DP' written in cursive at the top, with a delicate dahlia flower painted below it. A rather overpowering floral scent emanated from the parchment, and Hermione wrinkled her nose; it must be spelled to smell like dahlias, which she personally thought was rather tasteless. Seeming to sense the negative attention being directed at her, Dahlia glanced over her shoulder, frowning. But upon, once again, seeing nothing, she dipped her quill in the inkwell on her nightstand, and began penning a letter.

 _Dear Grandmama,_

Hermione frowned. Who was Dahlia's grandmother? Lillian Parkinson, on her father's side, but what family had her mother come from? Unlike a great many pureblood children, Hermione had not spent much time studying genealogy as a child. She had glossed over her own relations and some of the more prominent families with her tutors, but had hardly committed herself to memorizing _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_ , as some young scions did. As Dahlia continued her letter, however, Hermione felt a flash of sudden, clear realization.

 _I must know how the meeting this morning went. You know how concerned I am with the welfare of my fellow students, and this is, naturally, an issue about which I find myself overcome with passion._

Ophelia Selwyn. Ophelia Selwyn was Dahlia's maternal grandmother. And if Dahlia already knew about the board meeting, then it logically followed that she had been the anonymous tip from within Hogwarts that had nearly lead to Remus's ruin. How she had acquired this information, Hermione couldn't be sure, but she had a strong suspicion that the girl had neglected to respect the sanctity of the goblin statue alcove; it was not unimaginable that she had somehow managed to eavesdrop on her Hermione and Severus as they had spoken several days previously. Hermione drew back and retreated to a corner of the dormitory, resolving to wait until Dahlia left the room to make her escape.

This meant, of course, that Severus was innocent. Although she had not directly accused him, attempting to give him the opportunity to explain himself earlier after his fight with Sirius, Hermione knew that she had not aptly concealed the fact that she strongly suspected it had been him. Severus was one of the most intelligent people she knew; he not only had a razor-sharp intellect, but also tended to be intuitive and see beyond what people said. It would have been obvious to him that she did not entirely trust him, which was perhaps why he had attacked her so explosively.

Under the cover of James Potter's invisibility cloak, where no one could ever possibly catch her in the treasonous act of displaying weakness, Hermione allowed her head to fall into her hands.

 **AN: Sorry guys! I thought that, with school out, I would have more free time but I've been really busy with an internship and also with working on non-fanfiction creative writing! But don't worry, still chuggin' along. Rest assured, you will be notified if I need to put this story on hold for more than a couple months!**


	13. Quandaries and Contradictions

Chapter Thirteen

Quandaries and Contradictions

December, 1975

Hermione was almost certain she had a solid grasp on the theoretics of Fiendfyre by this point. She had been conducting research sporadically almost since her first year, and was finalizing her plans for the wards that would contain the fire. The casting of the fire itself didn't require a particularly complex set of incantations or wandwork; an average wizard could probably easily accomplish it (or a below-average wizard, as Goyle had demonstrated during Old Hermione's Battle of Hogwarts), albeit at the price of a sizable chunk of energy. The containment of the fire once it had been set alight, however, was another thing entirely. Hermione had briefly considered simply gathering all of the horcruxes in a single magically-contained chamber—the Room of Requirement most readily came to mind—and leaving the Fiendfyre to consume everything, ideally including itself.

This still hovered in the back of her mind as a potential alternative plan, should all else fail, but she would prefer not to have to resort to it for multiple reasons; firstly, the scholar in her wailed in protest at the thought of the destruction of the centuries of magical and historical artifacts that filled the room. Who knew how many irreplaceable objects, put there by any number of famous or important witches and wizards, dwelled in the enormous chamber?

The thought of the books alone that might be buried beneath decades of dust in the room of hidden things made Hermione's heart skip an anticipatory beat. She rarely allowed herself to think much about the future—for so long, despite Old Hermione's attempts to mitigate her influence, the destruction of Voldemort seemed like the ultimate goal that would rob her life of meaning once it was accomplished. What would she do, if she did indeed survive her attempts to stop him? Settle down and make a good marriage with a Bulstrode or a Rosier and live the rest of her life daintily sipping tea at society gatherings? The prospect made her stomach turn. Despite her rather bleak outlook on the future, however, the thought had entered her mind that perhaps, once the Dark Lord was no longer a threat to her loved ones, she could explore the room of hidden things more extensively to catalog some of the no-doubt invaluable artifacts within.

In any case, the second reason she would prefer not to resort to setting the whole room ablaze with Fiendfyre was that she wasn't entirely sure the magical flames would burn themselves out on their own. Wizards and witches unable to contain the spell never lived to tell the tale, and it was so volatile that conducting accurate study of its behavior was near-impossible; she had been unable to find a conclusive answer in all her research, and so for all she knew, some hapless student could be pacing around the seventh floor corridor one day a hundred years from now wishing for somewhere they couldn't be found, only to open a door which lead to a literal hellfire that could perhaps destroy the entire school and all its inhabitants. It was not a risk Hermione was willing to take, not with even the hint of a viable alternative. Hence all her plans for containment wards, the rough drafts of which she was finally feeling relatively confident in.

Now all she needed, she thought with some bitterness, was a horcrux. Much to her chagrin, Narcissa had been unable to locate the diary thus far. Hermione had confidently suggested she check the secret storage room under the drawing room, but Narcissa had been unable to locate such a storage room. Hermione was baffled; either the storage chamber didn't exist in her world as it had in Old Hermione's, for whatever reason, or her father had placed some uniquely effective concealment enchantment upon it. Whatever the reason for its apparent nonexistence, Hermione was deeply disconcerted.

Shaken from her reverie by the sound of approaching footsteps, she hastily tapped her wand on the pile of parchment lying before her. The complex runes and geometric figures that formed her preliminary ward designs quickly faded, replaced by an innocuous set of history of magic notes. The marauders' map had actually given her the idea for this particular handy set of concealment charms, although she would rather be jinxed than admit that to any of its creators, two of whom were currently approaching.

James and Sirius were snickering delightedly at something, stuffing their fists into their mouths in a (largely failed) attempt at muffling the sound. The source of their amusement quickly became apparent, however, as a large tome rounded the corner of a shelf, flapping angrily around their heads and attempting to beat them about the ears with its back cover even as the unmistakable hiss of Madame Pince sounded.

"Now you two be quiet, or I _will_ ban you from the library for the rest of term. _Again_."

James released a choked gargle and Sirius wheezed out something that sounded like an extremely insincere apology. The librarian, from wherever she was lurking amidst the stacks, sighed melodramatically. But the airborne tome ceased its attack after a moment, neatly shutting itself and zooming back into place on a shelf. James wiped tears of mirth from beneath his glasses and Sirius clutched at a stitch in his side with the effort of holding in his barking laughter.

"Dare I ask what you did to actually get banned from the library for an entire term?" Hermione said dryly, ignoring the slight thrill of nerves she felt as the boys approached—which she managed to convince herself was caused by anxiety about their close proximity to her containment ward plans, and not the general proximity of one of them in particular.

"The sordid tale would offend your delicate sensibilities, Princess." Sirius said, grinning as he pulled up one of the chairs nearest her table and straddled it with his arms slung lazily over the back.

"Ah yes, how could I forget that I am in the presence of a lady?" James said.

Moving closer to her chair, he kneeled and took her hand, bowing over it with a very grave expression.

"Greetings, Miss Malfoy, and good day to you."

Hermione snorted and flicked her hand out of his grip, knocking his glasses askew as she did so. James was being funny, and Hermione could even admit that she found his theatrics a bit charming, but his impeccable diction and proper address reminded that he was the heir of the house Potter; though he was clearly mocking the behavior of people of their set, his impression was too eerily accurate for her to really be amused. She might as well have just been greeted by any other scion of the Sacred Twenty-Eight at a ball.

Not to mention the added component of all the strange, ghostly feelings of attachment she had towards James; try as she might, she was not able to keep her emotions entirely discrete from Old Hermione's, and never had been. There was a strange leeching and intermingling that had occurred over the years, to the point that Hermione sometimes had trouble differentiating Old Hermione's thoughts and feelings about certain people and places from her own. James Potter, despite being a relatively new acquaintance to whom she could rationally claim little attachment, was one of the people for whom this emotional leeching had occurred most strongly; it made sense, as the man was practically physically identical to one of the most important people in Old Hermione's life, but the tide of warm feelings, nostalgia, and muted grief that rose up in her whenever she interacted with the boy made Hermione Malfoy quite uneasy.

Sirius was watching her carefully, and immediately noticed the almost imperceptible tensing of her posture. Reading Hermione Malfoy's expressions had become a bit of a game for him, recently, although if he were to think back on it, perhaps it was a game that had started much longer ago than he cared to admit.

Sirius, despite his best efforts to appear otherwise, was very perceptive; like all pureblood heirs of a certain standing, he had been raised from a young age to understand the importance of body language, tone, and micro-expressions. He had been coached, almost as rigorously as in learning the alphabet, in schooling his facial expressions and maintaining composure, and in reading the muted signs that other people who had received these same instructions might still present. As he did in all things related to his family, he had done everything he could for most of his adolescence to defy these teachings.

No one who knew him would describe Sirius Black as contained, composed, or restrained, and in fact the vast majority of his acquaintances would likely say he was boisterous, effusive individual whose feelings bubbled close to the surface. Those who knew him better, though, his closest mates in particular, were well aware that what he said (or even what his face said) at any given time didn't necessarily have much to do with what he actually thought or felt. He was also very good at reading people; people were easy. They thought, felt, and moved in a predictable fashion, driven by the same (usually easily discernible) motivations. It was rare for him to find someone perplexing in the way that he did Hermione Malfoy.

In some ways, she was exactly what he would expect of a pureblood heiress; her diction and manners were impeccable, her cool composure unshakeable. But in others, she was baffling. Most of the Slytherins barely registered as higher life forms in terms of his interest in them—unless that interest was for the purpose of messing with them, as in Snivellus's case—but he'd never quite been able to shake a lingering preoccupation with Malfoy. There was something strange about her, almost uncanny; she was at once familiar and alien, exactly what he would expect from someone hailing from the world he had rejected, but and also something quite different.

Technically, she'd been one of the first people his own age he'd met outside of the hyper-regulated environment of dance lessons and social gatherings with other pureblood heirs. He remembered liking her, wondering if she wanted to go to Slytherin like her family no doubt expected, or if she was like him and had other hopes. When she had gone to Slytherin and fallen in with the snakes with evident ease, he had found himself feeling oddly betrayed, and quickly developed a unique and deep-seated dislike for the girl that had only fermented as they grew older and she started to become chummy with not only Snivellus, but also his brother.

It figured that the two of them would gravitate to one another, he recalled thinking sourly to himself following the duel that had exploded in Hogsmeade the end of their fourth year. They were both slippery, opportunistic, too spineless to stand up to their parents' towering expectations. He and his brother had been inseparable before he had left for school and tensions had risen between him and their parents. He knew Regulus had a keen intellect and was a critical thinker, and understood in more depth than the average pureblood scion the convoluted political landscape and rotten ideologies underlying the system that kept people like their parents in power. He sensed this same intelligence and critical eye in Malfoy, and it rankled him.

The Malfoy girl and his brother _could_ be better; they weren't like that brainless bint Parkinson, trotting along happily at her parents' heels and nipping people or sitting in their laps according to her family's command. Nor were they like Malfoy's silent shadow, that Burke girl; the Burkes, although Sacred Twenty-Eight, had fallen on hard financial times recently, and didn't have the influence they once might have. Not only did Malfoy and his brother have the intellectual capacity to make the right choices, they also had the privilege.

When he and Malfoy had been abducted by his mad cousin and her band of deranged lackeys that summer, she had insisted that her father had yet to pledge allegiance to Voldemort, which was in direct contradiction to everything society gossip and the auror office alike had to say; but the Lestranges kidnapping Abraxas Malfoy's heir made little sense otherwise, and so he had been forced to accept that perhaps she had been telling the truth. Ever since then he had watched her with a new keenness. He was not ready to abandon his long-held belief that anyone his parents would willingly associate with was a twisted, blood-purity obsessed nutter, and was eager to collect evidence that damned Malfoy as the soulless bigot her name proclaimed her to be.

But the more he had carefully observed, the more hopelessly muddled his perception of the girl became. He had witnessed her be polite, friendly even, to Lily Evans, whose blood was as muddy as it came. And her friendship persisted with Remus, a penniless halfblood, with her showing no signs of trying to manipulate the boy for any personal gain. The latest development, the revelation that she was aware of Remus's condition, along with her subsequent singlehanded lobbying of the board of governors (her brother had helped, he supposed, but he attempted to ignore that prat's existence whenever possible) had succeeded in sending him into a complete tailspin.

It was good thing Sirius was so adept at concealing his thoughts and feelings, because they were a jumbled, foggy mess when it came to Malfoy. Sirius was stubborn; if there was one thing he hated above (almost) all else, it was admitting he was wrong. He _wanted_ to hate her—memories of the band of vicious canaries she had sent after him their fourth year helped considerably with his endeavor—but it was becoming rapidly more difficult the more actual contact he had with her. He had started occasionally tagging along with Remus when the other boy was off to study with the Slytherin, in hopes of gathering evidence to support his long-held belief that she was an intolerable bitch. But the group study sessions had had something of the opposite effect.

It was easy to hate, from afar, a picture of a person that you painted yourself. But up close, Hermione Malfoy was coming into focus very differently than he had first imagined. It also didn't help that, up close, she had a cute nose—it was speckled with a light dusting of freckles, which was certainly not what you would expect of a pureblood heiress—and always smelled like fresh flowers. Ever since he'd successfully achieved his first animagus transformation, he'd noticed his sense of smell was particularly heightened—which wasn't always a good thing, particularly in the close quarters of classrooms. But Malfoy was certainly one person he never suffered while sitting next to.

In any case, it would be an understatement to say that Sirius was confused. As Hermione—he wasn't sure when he had begun to occasionally think of her as 'Hermione'—scoffed and tossed her hair over one shoulder in response to James' theatrics, Sirius coughed to conceal his slight tensing as a wave of gardenia and lavender washed in his direction.

"I am afraid, my lady, that we come on a mission of the utmost importance and cannot spend much time on pleasantries." James said, grinning slightly as he readjusted his crooked glasses.

"Yeah, you nicked James' cloak." Sirius drawled, propping his chin on crossed arms at the top of his chair. "And after I allowed you, in confidence, into our inner sanctum."

"I needed it to sneak into Dumbledore's office." Hermione protested. "I figured it was being put to an appropriately delinquent use—for Remus's sake, no less—and its owner would therefor approve."

James nodded in concession, his mock-grave expression back in place now.

"Indeed, my lady, I must admit that your subversion of authority inspires great admiration in me." The merriness in his eyes quieted slightly, momentarily replaced by a more serious expression. "But really, I do hope you realize how much it means. What you did for Remus, that is."

She smiled then, and Sirius couldn't help but notice how much the expression softened her usually severe features.

"But imagine my surprise when I went to open my trunk last night, searching for my prized family heirloom, only to find that said family heirloom had mysteriously vanished." James continued, some of his humor returning—he could only manage a sparse few minutes of serious conversation, it seemed.

"Well it is an invisibility cloak; it's sort of meant to vanish, isn't it? Did you consider that perhaps you just misplaced it?" Hermione replied, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Most people her age, with a few notable exceptions, irritated Hermione and made her feel even older than she technically was. Even when Old Hermione had been an actual teenager, sans an adult witch's soul, she had had difficulty relating to people her own age. But there was something about Sirius and James that made her feel younger, almost like a real teenager. She wondered if it had to do with the emotional leeching courtesy of Old Hermione, or whether it was actually entirely owing to the boys' personalities.

"Me, misplace something?" James sounded convincingly offended, but the pointed snort Sirius directed his way seemed to indicate that his friend losing things was not at all an uncommon occurrence. "No, I fear it was theft of the highest order."

"I'd been meaning to give it back to you, really, the opportunity just didn't present itself." She replied with quiet dignity, attempting to ignore the weight of Sirius's gaze on her.

His eyes were lidded at half mast, and sprawled against the library chair he exuded a languid elegance. She couldn't help but think that, despite his animagus form, he was rather like a cat; always stretched out in graceful indolence, and despite the appearance of aloofness, always watching.

"We do have double potions together three mornings a week." James pointed out.

"Well I could hardly go brandishing it about the potions classroom. Do you really want the professors clued in as to how you lot manage to get up to mischief all around the castle at odd hours of the night? Or at least clued in to part of it."

She neglected to add that Dumbledore was anything but ignorant about James' cloak—and its origins. The elderly professor's fixation on the Deathly Hallows was another matter, alongside the acquisition and destruction of horcruxes, that weighed heavily on the girl's mind. She would have to do something about it sooner or later, before the man allowed his ambitions to lead him down a fatal path.

"Ah, that's right, you know about our other little mischief-making device. Pads, you really need to get better at not spilling all your secrets during pillow talk." James scolded.

Hermione flushed at the implication, but Sirius smirked lazily and reached out to prod his friend in the thigh with the tip of his wand. From James' outraged yelp—which was immediately followed by a hissed 'shhh!' from within the depths of the bookshelves—Hermione inferred it had delivered a nasty shock.

"At least I can talk a girl onto a pillow in the first place." He drawled, and James scowled.

"I very well could, and you know it. I simply elect to be more…discerning. I have standards, Padfoot, perhaps you've heard of them?"

Hermione stifled a smile.

"Yes, and those standards are quite exact. _Entirely_ exact, you might even say. As in, 'I am saving myself for Lily Evans and Lily Evans alone shall have me'."

James turned bright red up to the tips of his ears and was reduced to spluttering. Every inch of the suave, sardonic aristocrat evaporated, leaving behind a very indignant, bespectacled fifteen-year-old boy.

 _So different from Harry in so many ways, but so similar in others._

"You know that's not true." James muttered at last, running a hand through his hair and sending it into even further disarray.

"Do I?"

Before the playful argument could devolve into some 'playful' roughhousing—she now had a better idea of how the boys could have gotten themselves banned from the library for an entire term—Hermione decided to intervene.

"I'll make sure you get it back before the winter hols. I can drop it by the Gryffindor common room tomorrow morning before the Express leaves."

"That would be much appreciated-" James cut himself off abruptly, and Hermione frowned, swiveling in her chair to see what had caused his sudden muteness.

Approaching briskly from across the library was Lily, her long ponytail bouncing against her back in time with her businesslike steps. Drawing up short to Hermione's study table, she spared the two boys' a brief nod-clearly not making much of an attempt to look particularly friendly-and said,

"I need to speak with you, Hermione."

There was no anger or accusation in her tone, merely clear resolve and firmness, but Hermione felt a thrill of nerves nonetheless. Harry's future mother (she had to stop thinking of her that way or it would be impossible to interact with her with any convincing semblance of normality) was a force to be reckoned with and she evidently had an agenda.

"What about, Evans?" James said, running a hand through his hair.

Hermione noted that his voice had dropped several octaves. Sirius smirked and she valiantly stifled a smile.

"Is your name Hermione?" The girl said waspishly, and before Hermione could interject, the two of them were running circles round each other in their usual fashion.

"Twenty galleons she either permanently disfigured him or agrees to marry him by the time we graduate."

Malfoy's head turned towards him just a bit too quickly, and there was an odd, murky look in the depths of her coffee-colored eyes. It was gone a moment later, replaced by a slight smile, but Sirius hadn't missed it. Like everything else about her, it confused, frustrated and intrigued him in equal measure.

"I'll bet on the marrying." She said pensively, an edge of oddness in her tone as she said it.

"I'm leaning more towards the disfigurement outcome myself, so I suppose it's a bet, then."

"I don't gamble." She sniffed, but took his outstretched hand nonetheless for the perfunctory shake.

Her hand was soft, aside from the prominent bump of a writer's callus on her middle finger and bits of roughness along her thumb from gripping a wand. Truly the palm of a princess, he thought sardonically. He did not linger on why he was reluctant to release said lily-soft, never-worked-a-day-in-its-life hand.

"Going to Sluggy's little get together tonight?" He asked offhandedly.

Clearly he was paying attention to the verbal skirmish to their immediate right, Hermione thought, as this was the exact topic currently being discussed-if you could call what James and Lily were conducting a discussion.

"I'd rather end up under the mistletoe with the Bloody Baron," Lily was saying stiffly, no doubt in response to some mildly lewd remark on James' part.

"Yes. If I thought I could politely avoid it I would." She replied, having to raise her voice slightly to be heard over the bickering pair.

"You and your manners. You're going to wake up one day and realize sitting up straight and always writing thank-you notes isn't worth it."

"Should I write you a thank-you note for that invaluable piece of advice?" She said dryly, and he grinned slightly.

"I'd settle for you keeping my company at Slughorn's tonight. James always gets too sloshed to make decent conversation."

"I don't blame him. Those gatherings are insufferable." She hedged, before finally continuing, "But I already told Rabastan that I would go with him. I imagine he does expect me to spend at least some of the evening making conversation with him."

"Speaking of insufferable!" Sirius grunted, rolling his eyes. "That bloke is a git."

"You think anyone in a green tie is a git."

"Not true. I saw one of those muggle moving picture things last summer; their Minister was in it and he was wearing a green tie. He carried it off quite nicely, I thought."

"It's called television."

"How would you know?"

It could have been a playful jab, a lighthearted question, but Sirius's tone and expression said otherwise. There was a genuine curiosity in his eyes and an intensity to the way he had asked.

"We do share a country with the muggles, in case you hadn't noticed. I don't like being ignorant, especially about things that directly affect my life." She thought she managed to sound relatively poised, but Sirius looked dissatisfied with the response.

Fortunately for her, she was saved from further questioning by the conclusion of Lily and James' verbal spar.

"Hermione? Would you mind?" Lily said, pointedly ignoring James as he finished his sentence.

The girl nodded, hastily gathering up her papers and stuffing them into her strained book bag. She barely had time to nod cordially to James and Sirius before Lily had whisked her out of the library.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph that boy grinds my gears!" Lily exclaimed. "Muggle sayings, sorry." She added, and Hermione shrugged.

"I believe I got the gist of it. He is aggravating, I'll concede. But I think he has a good heart."

"Highly debatable." Lily sneered, as they reached the spot in the corridor where it opened out into an exposed walkway that joined two of the castle's towers.

Neither of the girls were wearing their woolen uniform cloaks, and so they stopped just short of the doorway, fingers of freezing air reaching underneath the heavy wooden door to caress their exposed knees and hands.

"So what's this about, then?" Hermione prompted.

Lily straightened, clearing her throat and smoothing her ponytail. The spots of color that had risen in her cheeks during her exchange with James were dying down somewhat, and she appeared a good deal more collected.

"I wanted to speak to you about Severus. I've noticed he's not been himself these past few weeks. Well, er, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he's been a bit _too_ much himself recently; he's withdrawn, sits alone at meals, won't speak to anyone-even me. I know you two had a falling out a couple weeks ago. I suppose I never realized what a good influence you and Burke had on him; without you two, I worry about him falling in with...with the wrong sort."

"You mean Avery, Mulciber and Travers." Hermione grimaced. "Thugs, the lot of them. Henry can be decent, but Avery and Mulciber are absolute brutes. Severus isn't a thing like them, but he has to blend. It's not in his interest to speak out against them."

Lily frowned.

"Yes, I'd been thinking about that. After that conversation we had in potions the beginning of term, I've been thinking more about the sorts of things Severus comes up against in your house. I think I understand better now. But...but you must be able to do _something_ for him!" She burst out finally, the color returning to her cheeks. "Whatever spat you're having-I know better than anyone what Sev can get like, he's hardly easy to get along with-you need to reconcile. I don't like the path I see for him in Slytherin without your protection."

Hermione sighed. She morbidly wondered what Severus's expression would look like if he were to hear Lily's suggestion that he required Hermione's protection.

"Severus resents me. He sees me as possessing unjustified power, both in our house and the wizarding world at large. And he would be right. It's not fair that, no matter how hard Severus works or how he excels, he will never be automatically rewarded respect on the mere basis of his name."

"I'd wondered how you really felt about the blood purity shite. You're always diplomatic...but I suspected you didn't subscribe. I wouldn't like you so much if I thought otherwise."

Hermione allowed herself a smile at this, as a feeling of warmth bloomed in her chest. She wasn't sure how much of it came from her-from the satisfaction of being liked by someone she also liked and admired-and how much of it came from Old Hermione, delighted by the fact of being kindly regarded by her best friend's mother.

"Well no. I'm a woman of logic, and anyone with an ounce of capacity for critical thinking can see it's all shite. But it's politics, once again. The politics of the wizarding world are just as convoluted as those in the muggle world; sometimes even more so. Being able to make someone spontaneously combust if you disagree with them always adds an element of excitement to things."

Lily snorted slightly.

"All this is to say that Severus is well aware of these politics, and of our respective places within the systems they generate. Our relationship will always be complex."

"Sure...but he needs you." Lily said simply, and Hermione felt a pang.

Hearing it so boiled down, so no-frills, was jarring. And it was true. She had Old Hermione's knowledge of where Severus's path would lead, should it remain unadjusted. He would wade into darkness headfirst, in the process losing so many pieces of the bright, acerbic, complex boy she had grown to care for so deeply. Hesitant as she was to make changes to the timeline, always afraid of causing irreparable damage or losing her way, she couldn't let Severus spiral downwards.

"I know. To the best of my ability, I won't let him go astray."

Lily nodded gravely.

"That's all I ask. I'm not a Slytherin; my blood is mud, right? I don't understand the sorts of webs Severus is spinning and trying to circumvent. I know there's only so much I can do for him, in the end."

Hermione nodded, clouds of thought filling her mind and making her feel foggy and unbalanced. After a moment, Lily continued, a strange new shyness having entered her voice.

"I heard you say you're going to Slughorn's party tonight...I was going to head to the Prefects' bathroom with Alice to get ready, if you'd like to join us. If you want, that is."

Hermione, in her old life, had never had many female friends. She had been bookish and disinterested in the sorts of things that occupied girls like Parvati and Lavender. And as a Malfoy, her father had kept her sequestered from the usual fixings of a young lady's lifestyle; she had never giggled over ballgowns or cosmetics charms with other witches her age. Even with multiple lifetimes of experience, she still wasn't really sure she knew how to companionably share a bathroom with two other girls.

"I'd like that. Thank you for the invitation."

Lily smiled. Hermione Malfoy was a bit of a mystery to her, a series of quandaries and contradictions; her name stood for everything Lily abhorred, but the girl herself spoke and acted like someone worthy of her admiration and respect. She might not make sense, but the redhead found herself pleased she had been willing to give the other girl the benefit of the doubt. Wasn't that what it was all about, ultimately? Not judging people for the blood in their veins?

 **AN: Thank you, as always, for your patience! Reviews-the knowledge that what I am writing is appreciated and enjoyable-are what motivate me to continue writing, so thank you to everyone who takes the time to leave a note! I think things have gotten a little slow-moving, although I am happy with the way the plot is progressing overall. We are probably coming up on a time-skip/at least some faster moving chapters, as I am eager to get to post-Hogwarts years. I think this story will be getting significantly darker/more action plot heavy at that point, which I am eager for. I love my fluff as much as the next gal, but the more action-driven plot stuff challenges me a bit more as a writer, so I'm looking forward to that.**

 **Just as a note, I am about to leave for four months abroad in Europe (yay!) While this is very exciting for me, it may mean I have to put updates on hold for a bit, or there may only be one or two until I return from my travels. I will keep you all updated (I could very well update more often if I'm inspired and have opportunity/occasion to write) but I just thought I'd throw that out there!**

 **Also sorry because this chapter has NOT been proofread. At all. So.**


	14. Thawing

Chapter Fourteen

Thawing

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

The candles were growing soft and gnarled, curling in on themselves as if they were finally nearing surrender in their battle against the dark. Narcissa, perched neatly atop an armchair in the Malfoy family library, glanced up from her book as one of the house elves shuffled past the open door, humming to himself under his breath.

Releasing a shaking breath of her own, the young woman closed the book and set it down on the end table to her left. She had been in the midst of peeling up the enormous rug draped over the gleaming library floor when she had heard the approaching footsteps. If she hadn't been so frantic with panic, she might have noted that it was a light shuffle not at all characteristic of the heavy, purposeful footfalls both her husband and her father-in-law produced. Besides, both men were out "tending to business" (Narcissa was always tempted to roll her eyes when Lucius phrased it so delicately; apparently he was worried it might cause his young wife to faint away if the words 'death eater' were uttered in her presence.) They weren't expected back until half-past nine, which had given her a neat little window with which to carry out her activities—some "woman time," as Abraxas slightly condescendingly referred to the periods in which Narcissa was left to her own devices in the manner.

In any case, she had been in the midst of what would be her final exploration of the library. Hermione had informed her that there was meant to be a secret store cache of sorts underneath the room, and that it ought to contain a black leather-bound book that the Dark Lord had entrusted to Lucius. Why she needed it, her sister-in-law had been unwilling to say—floo connections could only be kept so secure, after all—but the urgency in her tone had communicated more than any words could have. It was obvious this was important, which made it all the more frustrating that the fabled store cache appeared not to exist.

The woman had searched every nook and cranny of the library twice, and this third attempt was really more of a way for her to wittle away time trying to feel useful while her husband and father-in-law were out consorting with Dark Lords and playing with the future of the entire wizarding world.

Rolling her eyes—she had to make use of the few opportunities she had to release her pent-up exasperation—the woman returned to her knees, sweeping aside the heavy (and musty, she noted, coughing slightly as the fibers released a puff of dust) rug in the center of the room.

Staring down at the parquet floor, Narcissa willed a door, a seam, a strange bit of wood—anything, really—to make itself apparent. The parquet gleamed back at her in what she fancied was a smug fashion. About to whip the carpet back into place in a fit of frustration, she suddenly stilled her hand. As she had begun to lower the rug, and the ancient textile had released a puff of gritty dust, the aforementioned gritty dust had floated down to the floor, settling upon the polished wood. In all but a single spot. It was small, no more than a square meter or so, but the dust had settled around it in a perfect frame.

"Thank Circe." The witch breathed, delicately moving the rug to one side and sliding closer to the square.

Tentatively, she ran a hand through the air over the square. Nothing. Except…was that a whisper? Of something?

She passed her hand over the area again, only a few centimeters away from the floor this time, and was rewarded with a pulse of warmth so slight it was nearly imperceptible. Narrowing her eyes, she drew her wand.

" _Revalio_."

Nothing. Except…except a slight, imperceptible draft that seemed to sweep through the room and work its way down the back of Narcissa's robes, causing goosebumps to erupt down her spine. She shivered slightly.

Tucking her wand back into the sleeve of her robes—she obviously wasn't getting anywhere with the basic detector spells she knew—she frowned and drew closer to the floor. Aside from its utterly conspicuous lack of dust, the inlaid wood was identical to that around it.

Tentatively, ignoring the fact that the room seemed to have grown perceptibly colder, the witch stretched her hand out, her elegant fingers reaching for the center of the square.

"Cleaning the library, Cissa? We do have house elves for that, you know."

Narcissa narrowly swallowed the scream that had slithered up her throat, and forced herself to calmly turn towards the door, an unreadable expression on her face. Her husband was leaning against the frame, looking the very picture of leisurely indolence. Aside from a slight flintiness lurking in the depths of his eyes, which Narcissa was astute enough to catch before it disappeared. Oh yes, she was in trouble.

"Hardly." She scoffed, smiling as she rose to her feet and dusted off her robes. "I don't think I've cleaned a floor in my life."

"I thought not. You're too well bred for that sort of thing." Lucius murmured, moving forward to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

She couldn't help the slight unease that flashed through her. She wasn't afraid of her husband, not really, but she couldn't imagine he would be pleased to discover she had been conspiring with his sister behind his back.

"So what _were_ you doing, darling, scrabbling around on the floor? In the library of all places?"

His hand had moved to the back of her neck, where he began stroking the soft little hairs at the base of her skull. She struggled not to be distracted by the soothing motion. It was obvious what she had been doing, they both knew it; clearly Lucius had been alerted by some sort of ward being triggered (the cold air sweeping through the room ought to have been warning enough) and it was therefor irrefutable that she had been trying to get into the secret storage room beneath the library. It was just a question of misdirection at this point, of ensuring that he didn't discover the true reason why she had gone looking for the storage room in the first place.

"I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said it was because I _wanted_ you to catch me on my hands and knees?" She purred, moving closer to her husband and twisting a hand in the front of his robes.

They were all black, she noted, and cut in a far plainer and frankly unstylish fashion than any of his other clothes. So he had come from a meeting with his 'colleagues', as she had suspected. No doubt he had feared an intruder in the manor when he had felt the wards triggered, and had rushed home with all due haste. Oh dear, yes, she certainly had some _appeasing_ to do in exchange for all the trouble she had caused him.

"Amateurish, Cissa." He said smoothly, although she didn't miss the way his hand tightened in her hair slightly and his eyes seemed to darken.

"Sometimes the simplest strategies are the most effective." She smirked.

"I'm not a simple man, my love, if that had somehow escaped your attention."

"Believe me, darling, it has not."

He cocked an eyebrow at her, releasing his hold on her hair and running a wandering hand down her spine. She was wearing a thin set of silken house robes, and she could feel his finger fully against each of her vertebrae. She fought off a shiver with some effort, but was peeved to see Lucius smirk at the sight of gooseflesh appearing along her exposed forearms.

"So?"

"One of the house elves didn't move the rug back into place after cleaning the floors earlier. I saw that the dust from the rug had settled in an unusual pattern, and I was curious. Evidently there was some sort of magical disturbance, and can you blame your poor, sweet wife for jumping at any available opportunity for entertainment when you've left her all alone to waste away in boredom?"

She was laying it on too thick, but they both knew it, so hopefully he would write it off as her usual attempts at lighthearted flirtation. He didn't appear entirely convinced, but some of the suspicious lines around the corners of his eyes relaxed.

"You're actually quite lucky, love, as what you've stumbled upon happens to be the family safe room. Had you placed your hand on the floor and attempted to open the door, the wards would have rejected you. With unpleasant consequences." His tone was light, but the warning in his eyes was real.

" _Rejected_ me? Am I not a member of this family by every right?" She demanded.

Her affront was hardly feigned; although it was not unexpected that the paranoid Malfoy men would jealously guard their secrets, she was a bit hurt that they didn't consider her family enough to include her in the wards. Lucius saw this, and placed his hands on either side of her face, cradling the back of her neck in such a way that it gently forced her to meet his eye.

"Of course you are, Cissa. As my wife you are entitled to my name, and every right that comes with it. The wards around this property, and any property in our family holdings, will accept you readily as a Malfoy. But these wards in particular are only responsive to my father and me. That is how important the things guarded in that safe room are. You must understand that there are certain matters we must keep to ourselves in order to do what's best for the family."

Ah. So the room would not let her in—and would not let Hermione in, if Lucius was to be believed—because they had made the tactical blunder of being born witches.

"Does Hermione know about the safe room? And that she would be 'rejected' if she ever tried to gain entry?"

Perhaps it was a mistake to even bring up her sister-in-law, but she was well and truly irked by this point.

"Hermione is still a child."

"Do you really believe that? If she were your younger brother, would _he_ still be a child at fifteen?"

Lucius stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

"You're not to tell her about it. It will only cause her to be unreasonable, which will in turn cause _me_ a great deal of frustration and likely result in me prematurely going gray. And we wouldn't want that, would we, darling?"

Narcissa still felt the sting of being overlooked and shut out, but it was cooled somewhat by the knowledge that she had successfully turned the tables on her husband; now _he_ was the one attempting to appease her and divert the topic to more lighthearted matters. Fine. She would let him. But only because it served her purposes.

"I happen to think you'd make an irresistible silver fox." She murmured, standing on tiptoes to brush her nose against his.

She could feel the whisper of his smirk against her lips.

"Indeed?"

His hands were wandering lower.

"Oh, yes, your father is starting to go gray and I must say, _he_ looks—" She squealed as his hand closed around one of her buttocks and issued a firm squeeze.

"Are you _trying_ to provoke me, love?" His voice was edged with danger, but in an entirely different way than it had been earlier.

That wasn't suspicion coloring his tone, dragging it into low and husky depths.

"Obviously." Drawing out the final syllable teasingly, Narcissa moved to draw back slightly from his embrace.

His arms tightened around her, and before she knew it he had her backed up against a bookshelf, his hands sliding beneath her overrobe. She gasped slightly as his fingertips, only the slightest bit roughened by wandwork, glided over her hips.

He moved forward to trail kisses up the side of her neck, and Narcissa stifled a moan when she felt the hot wetness of his tongue in the hollow behind her ear.

"Odd…" She heard him murmur, and the puff of his breath against the damp patch of skin sent shivers up and down her spine.

She couldn't help squirming a bit, and there was a slight rumble in Lucius's chest as he pushed her back against the bookcase. Her mind was clouded, but not foggy enough for her to forget what he had just said.

"What's odd?" She asked, breathily, watching the way his eyes fixed on her chest as it moved up and down.

"I had thought…and correct me if I'm mistaken…"

One of his hands emerged from her under robe and, tracing its way down her collarbone, settled on the silk ribbon holding her bodice closed. Momentarily releasing the ribbon, he ran his finger along the strip of downy soft flesh bordering her neckline. Narcissa fought to keep her breathing anything resembling steady as he continued,

"…that the house elves cleaned the floors on Thursdays."

With this final word, he slid both of his hands under her thighs and hitched her up against the bookshelf. Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist, and she crushed her chest against his, gratified to hear his own breathing speed up as the softness of her breasts pushed up against him.

"I wouldn't know. As you say, I'm too well bred to have much of anything to do with cleaning." She breathed.

"Hm. Naturally. But I hope that doesn't mean I never get to see you on your knees."

Narcissa fervently hoped the house elf that had plodded past earlier was far, far away down in the servants' quarters by this time, or else the poor creature was about to be treated to some very…colorful sound effects.

* * *

Hogwarts Castle

Hermione was a bit drunk. She didn't quite want to admit it to herself, but following her third glass of punch, it was no longer feasible for her to continue ignoring her sudden lack of coordination.

"Potter's spiked the punch, if I'm not mistaken." Rabastan murmured.

He had to bend slightly to say it into her ear, and Hermione found herself leaning, like a sapling swaying in the wind, away from his encroaching body heat. He noted the movement—stupid of her not to contain it more adeptly—and hastily put a respectful few inches between them.

He really was good looking, almost painfully so, and Hermione would be lying if she said she hadn't enjoyed gazing up at his well-formed features as they had danced that evening. But every time she looked at his jaw, the shape of his nose, she found her stomach turning as her illogical reptile brain associated them with his brother and sent a thrill of fear down her spine. She couldn't bear to be touched by him, she realized, not when it reminded her so irresistibly of Bellatrix's claw-like hand gripping her upper arm or the musty, dank odor of the disused bedroom they had been tossed into at the Lestranges' estate that summer. She had even found herself wondering, berating herself for not contemplating the possibility before now, if perhaps he had been instructed by his brother or sister-in-law to try to get close to her for purposes of manipulation or maybe even more overt violence.

 _Of course he's acting on his family's behalf! Don't be daft. I should have said something before, but you never follow my advice._

In a testament to her slightly inebriated state, Hermione muttered under her breath,

"That's not true and you know it, you cow."

"Pardon?"

She cleared her throat, her cheeks pinkening.

"Oh, I was just saying that I could use some air."

Despite Old Hermione's dire pronouncements, Rabastan had been the perfect gentleman that evening. He hadn't overstepped his bounds once, always maintaining a careful distance between them as they danced, and offering to fetch her refreshments at every turn.

Slughorn had commandeered one of the smaller, disused ballrooms on the fourth floor for his annual gathering of sycophants. The room, which normally sat dingy and disused—aside from the occasional after-hours rendezvous—had been polished into brilliance. It was in the Rococo style, likely an addition to the castle courtesy of some 18th century headmaster. One wall was entirely lined with gilded mirrors, which reflected the light of what must have been hundreds of floating candles. Marble cherubs, swimming amongst decadent clumps of carved grapes and fat apples, wound up the pillars placed at regular intervals throughout the room. As Hermione watched, one of the winged babes caught her eye and stuck its tongue out at her.

About a hundred students—and their plus ones, of course—had been invited, alongside a few dozen of Slughorn's carefully-cultivated adult connections. Hermione had caught sight of Laurinda Macmillan, a reluctant-looking Alice in tow, as the older woman greeted a wispy-looking man that Hermione vaguely recognized as some ministry official who had attended the Equinox ball on a few occasions.

She had parted ways with Lily and her friend at the prefects' bathroom earlier, and had only briefly spotted a shock of read hair from across the room as she and Rabastan had arrived; she didn't think it wise to allow Rabastan to see her conversing amicably with Lily, especially not now that she was more seriously considering the possibility that he might be acting at his family's behest. The Dark Lord was testing her family's loyalty now more than ever—his trusting Lucius with the diary was testament to that—and it certainly made sense that that test would extend to her as well.

Hopefully if news of her brother protecting a halfbreed from the Board of Governors reached his ears, he would think that Lucius was strategically cultivating the allegiance of a Dark creature who might prove useful in the future. But for the time being, she might have to be more cautious about openly displaying her friendship with a mudblood—which would likely grow ever more difficult, as apparently they had progressed to the level of camaraderie that they did their makeup and gossiped together in the toilets. Hermione may not have had many female friends, in either of her two lifetimes, but even she knew that this was essentially an official declaration of friendship and loyalty.

"I think I'd like to have a minute outside to get my bearings." She said, moving towards the sweeping double doors on the other end of the room.

Observing her companion's obvious intention to follow, she smiled lightly and held out a hand.

"I could use some quiet, if that's alright. I'll catch up with you later?"

He took the gentle rebuff in stride, bowing over her hand and heading off towards the sparkling silver spruce tree that had been conjured into existence on the other side of the room; several Slytherins were congregated there, including two of his quidditch teammates.

Gathering the long, muted blue skirts of her robes about her, she made a beeline for the French doors, brushing off any attempts at garnering her attention with as much poise as possible.

The winter air, when it hit her face, was like a shocking dose of sober-up potion; she immediately felt less fuzzy. Several jars were placed periodically along the balcony railing, each containing a dozing fire salamander. The little creatures emitted a gentle orange glow, in addition to a radius of heat that spread for several meters around each of them. It kept the balcony at a comfortable temperature, despite the cold air pressing in from all sides, and gooseflesh exploded along her arms in reaction to the stark contrast of sensations.

The balcony was long, stretching along the outer circumference of the tower like a girdle, and although several students were clumped together near the doors, it only took a few steps along its length to find the solitude she had been seeking. She sped up slightly as she passed the dark form of what was clearly a couple pressed up against the tower's wall, and only slowed when she grew close to the end of the balcony. On this side, nearly fully opposite the ballroom doors, the balcony looked out over the snowy castle grounds, which were slick and silver under the light of a waning gibbous. The fire salamanders had become fewer and far between as she had progressed along the balcony, and were entirely absent here at its very end; the air had grown bitingly cold and dark without the little creatures' protective warmth and light, and the stars stood out like stark pinpricks.

She stood utterly still for several long moments, beginning to shiver as her breath billowed out before her in a thick cloud. Old Hermione was silent; she could not even feel her presence, as she occasionally could, pressing lightly against her consciousness. She felt wholly alone—wholly herself. Or as much of herself as she could be, without the fact of a past life actively making itself known. She was beginning to realize that the distinction she insisted on drawing between herself and 'Old' Hermione was a blurred line at best; for years she had resented the 'other' presence in her head, the girl who had appeared in her mindscape when she'd been but a child and made it known that she would never, _never_ , be like other children. But had she just been resenting a part of herself, trying to separate herself from a past that was as much her present, her reality, as this very moment? Could she really draw such stark divisions between Old Hermione's world and her own, or were they in some strange, inconceivable way, two threads of the same fabric, two branches of the same tree, somehow brought into conversation with one another?

Perhaps it was her deep submersion in thought that allowed her to let her guard down, or perhaps it was the alcohol making her limbs heavier than usual, but she gasped and only belatedly gripped her wand at the sensation of a touch against her waist.

She moved to whirl around, her muscles bunching with sudden adrenaline, but a gentle hand came down upon the back of her neck, keeping her facing forward, and she felt herself suddenly, involuntarily relax as a familiar, woody smell reached her nose.

"Didn't mean to scare you, princess."

He spoke so quietly that it almost seemed the words hummed to her through his chest, which was mere centimeters from her back, radiating a warmth to rival the fire salamanders. Ordinarily she would have pushed him away, berated him for not only disturbing her peace but also making her think she was being attacked, but something forestalled her. Something, whether it was the weight of the alcohol or of her own thoughts, made her sigh and lean back into the warmth of his chest. She felt it momentarily tighten in what she took to be surprise, before the hand that had lightly brushed against her waist encircled it securely, pulling her even closer.

She could feel his breath on her ear, and the contrast with the earlier sensation of Rabastan whispering to her was stark; both sent shivers down her spine, but these shivers now were anything but an indication of fear or disgust.

Somehow, though, despite her involuntary reaction to his touch, there was nothing sexual about it; he hadn't, as she had expected by this point, made a lewd or suggestive remark, and although his hand rested snugly in the hollow of her waist, he hadn't moved to touch her anywhere else. There was something companionable, almost comforting, about him holding her this way, as if he had some idea of the unsettling thoughts that had been running through her mind minutes earlier.

That thought shook her out of her unguarded stupor; there was no way he had even an inkling of what went on in her head, and he never would. No one ever would, because she would never, _never_ , be like other children.

She tensed slightly, and he felt it. His grip immediately loosened, and she reluctantly turned to face him, her cheeks hot with embarrassment, not wanting to acknowledge the quiet intimacy she had just broken. But when she looked up to meet his eyes, his face half in shadow and half illuminated by the light of the moon, she did not find the teasing sparkle in his eye or confident smirk she had been expecting. There was a strange, odd openness in his expression, and his eyes roved over her face as though he was searching for something. Feeling suddenly _exposed_ beneath that penetrating look, she flicked her eyes downwards.

"You're drunk." She said, feeling compelled to whisper despite their utter solitude.

The murmur spread itself between them in a cloud of white.

"Certainly. As are you." She could hear the smirk, having apparently returned, in his words.

"Maybe, but not as drunk as you."

"I'll admit that we maybe got overzealous with the punch this year. James was a bit heavy-handed with the firewhiskey."

Silence fell between them, and she felt its weight settle heavily down upon her shoulders.

"Are you alright?" She blurted.

She wasn't sure why she asked it; he was standing before her, his posture its usual combination of poised and lazily relaxed, one hand—was it the hand, she wondered, that had been curled around her waist only minutes previously—tucked into the pockets of his robes. Not dress robes, she noted. Dressing up for an occasion such as Slughorn's Yule party was, unsurprisingly, apparently beneath him.

He stared, his expression of lazy indolence slipping to reveal that earlier, strange rawness.

"I—"

A gust of wind swept along the tower wall, whipping her skirts up into a froth of blue silk and lifting her hair out of the updo she had painstakingly wrestled it into earlier that evening. Instinctively, she stepped back from the balcony railing, into the safe radius of his body heat. Starting slightly at a sudden sensation of wetness against her cheeks, she glanced up at the sky. It had started to snow, flakes spiraling down across the castle grounds like falling stars.

"I'm afraid, Hermione." He said it so softly that she almost thought she might have imagined it.

Craning her neck to meet his gaze, she knew she hadn't. She felt a snowflake tangle itself in her eyelashes, and nearly held her breath as he reached up and touched it, melting it away instantly against the pad of his thumb. Her lashes fluttered, involuntarily, against the calloused skin, and he instantly withdrew his hand as though he'd been burned.

"I am too." She said at last.

The flakes had begun to grow larger and pick up speed, gathering themselves into real flurries. They huddled close atop the balcony as winter swirled around them.

After a long moment, his hesitation so palpable that it was a thick, physical presence, he drew back from her just far enough to be able to meet her eyes. His hands came up to cup the back of her neck, tangling in her hair, which was already growing heavy and knotted with melted snow.

"Can I—can I kiss you?"

They both seemed taken aback at the question, his eyebrows coming together in a frown almost immediately after the words left his mouth. For her part, it shook her out of whatever trance she had fallen into, and the reality of the situation came rushing back upon her. Suddenly, as she looked up at Sirius, all she could see was a gaunt-faced man, tortured shadows flitting through his eyes and a mad twist to his mouth.

"No." She managed to choke out, pushing away from him in a movement that felt wrenching and violent but really wasn't much more than a brisk step backwards. "You may not, Mr. Black."

It was physically painful, this distance she felt herself opening up between them, made even more agonizing by how painstaking it had been, how tenuous, spinning that fragile thread of trust that held them together in the first place. She felt it fraying and snapping, as shutters closed down over his eyes and the strange rawness disappeared entirely, replaced with a cold, unreadable gray that she hadn't been forced to stare down since that day in Hogsmeade.

Unable to bear looking at it any longer, Hermione swept up her skirts, which had already gathered pockets of snow in their creases, and practically ran for the double doors. It was only when she emerged into the full glow of the French windows and the jars of fire salamanders that she glanced over her shoulder, back at the portion of the balcony that wrapped around the tower. Sirius hadn't followed, and she managed to convince herself that that was a good thing. A necessary thing.

 _Be careful. Albus Dumbledore is all the evidence one needs to see what a life in pursuit of 'The Greater Good' does to someone._

"Oh, so now you're concerned for my welfare, my personal relationships? All you've ever done is use me in pursuit of your greater good." She hissed under her breath.

The balcony was empty, the snow having evidently pushed even amorous couples back inside.

 _Don't be ridiculous. What do you mean 'use' you? I_ am _you, and you are me. My world is yours as much as it's not, and vice versa. Obviously I care what happens to people in your life, to Sirius and James and your family—_

"As if you care what happens to my family. You don't see them as anything more than Death Eaters and you never have."

 _You are acting like a_ child! _A drunk child, at that. I've already explained this; they're my family as much as they're yours. I hate what they became in my world, but I see that they are not that in this world, just as I see that Sirius will never become that man you saw earlier._

"But how can you know that?" She whispered. "What if I fail?"

Only silence answered her.

 **AN: I am sincerely sorry for the inexcusably long gap in updates. I have had some very challenging personal stuff going on the past few months, in addition to a heavy courseload. As you might notice, the tone and even perhaps the writing style has shifted slightly in this chapter. I've been working on my writing a lot the past few months, and that very well may be reflected in this chapter. Expect things to get increasingly complex, mature and dark moving forward—so if pure fluff is your cup of tea, a warning that this story is likely to move away from that as it progresses. As you also might have noticed, I was far more heavy-handed with the romance/lemon-y elements in this chapter; consider it an apology for my extended absence.**


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